


Gone Soft

by notapepper



Series: Fitzsinners [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Awkward Boners, Explicit Language, F/M, Fitz is Jemma's guinea pig, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine, Graphic Description, Kissing for science, Not Canon Compliant, Sexual Content, Sexy Science (ish)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:18:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3357314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notapepper/pseuds/notapepper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fitz?" Simmons asked as she switched her attention between her legal pad and the simulation currently running on her computer screen. Her eyes flicked to him, pausing in between jotting down notes on the yellow paper. "How many data points do you think we should aim for?"<br/>A sound suspiciously like a squeak jumped in Fitz's throat. Data points. The number of times they'd test the product. The number of times they would need to kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AthenaMuze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaMuze/gifts).



> I do not own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
> 
> For tumblr user upsidedownhappyland a.k.a. AthenaMuze. The prompt was “Being cute and scienceing all over the place" with the added parameters Academy and smut.
> 
> Features some OC's from my Academy head canon 'verse. Can be read on its own.

Deputy Director Maria Hill - " _Right hand to Nick Fury himself, Fitz!"_ \- stood at the front of one of Sci-Tech's newer lecture halls, flawless in her S.H.I.E.L.D. blacks, hands clasped behind her back as she watched Agent Holloway conclude her speech.

Holloway adjusted her glasses and shifted the notecards in her hands. "For an undercover operative, seduction can be and often is a valuable tool. However, the lengths to which an agent should go within the scope of that seduction _must_ be her decision." She paused, pressing her palm against the podium. "No agent should be made to feel coerced into sex simply to maintain her cover - and I fear that, too often, this message gets lost in our loyalty to the cause." Holloway swallowed a breath and swept a hand over her red hair, composing herself before facing the roomful of scientists once more. "When we fail to address such concerns head-on, we do a vast disservice not only to the agents currently risking their lives behind enemy lines, but also to our future operatives: your peers, your friends, and quite possibly, even some of you."

Fitz had to stifle an incredulous noise at the thought of relying on his sex appeal while undercover. _Simmons could, though; she's quite fit._ Fitz sighed. Someday, he would have to train his treacherous brain to keep those thoughts out of his head. He leaned over, talking quietly into her ear. "Undercover? I'm perfectly happy tucked away in a lab, thanks."

"Hush," she chided softly, turning her attention back to the guest speaker as the students around them broke into subdued applause.

Hill stepped up to the lectern, shaking the proffered hand and nodding with a small smile. "Thank you for taking the time to talk with us, Agent Holloway." She faced the three other guest speakers, sitting placidly at the back of the hall. "And thanks again to Agents Bates-Smith, Lorenzo, and King, for shining their own light on a variety of problems within S.H.I.E.L.D. I can promise you, we've heard your complaints, and we don't intend to stand idly by."

Hill then turned her attention to the assembly. "By now you've all received a packet based on the presentations you've heard today." She cleared her throat, taking a sip of water from a steel bottle. "These issues reflect on our entire organization - don't take them lightly. Now, Agent Weaver assures me you're the best Sci-Tech has to offer, and I trust her judgment." Her serious eyes, the color of murky water, took careful stock of the 28 cadets in the room. "Just to ensure you give this project your best effort, S.H.I.E.L.D. is willing to throw in a carrot. The individual or team whose prototype shows the most promise, will get a face-to-face with Director Fury himself. Impress _him_ ," she paused for emphasis, "and you'll get enough grant money to fund any project you want." At that, the hall erupted into a low buzz of excited whispers. Hill watched, bemused and patient, until they quieted. "I'll be on the review committee that decides which ideas make it into full R&D. Don't let me down."

-o-

"Psssst. Hey. Mickey Mouse Clubhouse."

The presentation was just letting out when Fitz heard a taunting voice behind his right shoulder. He turned to see Kimberly "Kibbles" Lopez, better known as Monkey Murderer, getting up from her seat two rows back.

" _You…_ " Fitz hissed. After a more-than-spotty history, he was glad to be graduating three years early if it meant getting away from people like her. And from the withering look she threw his way, the neuropsychologist held him in the same contempt. "How did _you_ get on Weaver's 'brightest minds' list?"

"You know, Fatz, just because I like to have fun doesn't mean I'm an idiot." Kibbles narrowed her eyes, watching them suspiciously. "You Doogie Howsers think you've got this all locked up, huh?"

Simmons chimed in, the challenge striking flint into her voice. "Oh, we _know_ we do."

"Yeah." He hated how petulant he sounded, tried to resist taking the bait, but couldn't stop himself adding, "And the name's Fitz." Sure, he'd probably put on a few pounds since discovering the Academy's all-you-can-eat dining hall, but honestly, that was just rude.

"My mistake," snorted Kibbles. "Well, I'd wish you good luck, but…"

"We don't need it?" guessed Simmons.

"...but I don't want to," she finished. Then, without further preamble, Kibbles turned and walked out.

Three minutes into this challenge and they already had someone gunning for them. _Bloody fantastic._

-o-

"But, Fitz, it's perfect!"

"Then _you_ work on it and I'll think of somethin' else to do! It's more your specialty than mine, anyway." Almost as soon as he said it, Fitz was ready to recant. If he knew one thing, it was that he did his best work paired with Jemma Simmons. _Just, why does it have to be_ _ **this**_ _project?_

Jemma stared in disbelief. "You're not serious! We've been teaming up for two years, what makes you think I'd _want_ to do this without you?" She leveraged imploring eyes against him. "Assuming I even could?"

Fitz squinted. "Well of course y' _could_ , Simmons, you're nearly the smartest person at this school." _And by far the prettiest._

Simmons bit down a smile at the word 'nearly'. "We're twice as smart together, you know that." She scrunched her nose in that annoyingly adorable way she had, and wheedled, "Please, Fitz? We'll be sure to win. Don't you want to meet Nick Fury? Get the chance to design your airplane?"

Fitz pickled his mouth into a pout, but there was no real peevishness to it. "Well, if you're so set on it, I suppose I'll help." The smile she gave him just then _probably_ wasn't enough to make up for the embarrassment he felt was coming, but maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he was making it in his head. "So, what's first?"

-o-

"You need me to design… a lipstick tube."

Simmons looked up from her notes and said cheerily, "Not just _any_ lipstick tube, Fitz! It's quite an important part of the project!"

Fitz was unconvinced. She was giving him grunt work, and he wasn't so in love with her that he'd let her get away with _that_. "I have a PhD, I hope you realize."

She threw him a look that said distinctly, ' _Don't bring a knife to a gunfight'_. "And I have two. Your point?"

He looked down, grumbling, "I just don't understand why it has to be lipstick. Why not some kind of quick-injecting mini syringe? Be fun designing _that_."

She paused in surprise. "Weren't you listening when I first explained it to you?"

"Erm…" Come to think of it, it was entirely possible he'd been engrossed in the way her lips moved at the time, and not so much on what she was saying.

Simmons sighed. "It's the perfect homage to Peggy Carter. _Peggy Carter_ , Fitz-"

"Yeah, yeah." He pitched his voice higher, imitating her. " _Founder_ of S.H.I.E.L.D., _happens_ to be British-"

"-and had an arsenal of killer cosmetics. We'd be fools not to follow in her legacy." She was back to her earlier sunny demeanor, rambling on in excitement. "Just think how good it'll look to the judges."

It was hard to keep fussing at her when she seemed so happy. Her joy was infectious, spreading into every corner and crevice. _Like glitter. The herpes of the craft world._ "Yeah, alright. Looks like I'm buildin' a lipstick case, then." He scratched at the back of his neck, and scoffed lightly, more joking than put out. "Need anythin' else while my talents are bein' wasted? A new set of butter knives, perhaps?

She giggled, and the sound rose up around him like a warm bath. "Don't worry, Fitz, you'll have plenty to do once we start testing."

 _Right, testing, of cour- wait._ "What?"

-o-

"Y'know, Simmons, I went along with it when you told me you wanted to design an _anti-erectile_ compound-"

"Yes, to help undercover agents avoid sex without blowing their covers, it's the perfect-"

"-despite bein' _fairly_ uncomfortable with the subject matter-"

Simmons rolled her eyes. "Ugh, Fitz! _We're scientists_ -"

"-now you want to _test_ it on me? That's…" he gaped, unable to form his objection into a coherent argument. There was a porcupine sitting on his diaphragm; it prickled into his chest every time he considered the implications of what she wanted him to do. _Oh, nothin' to see here, just discussing the details of my flaccid penis with the girl I fancy._ "It's crossin' the line, Simmons."

She frowned, brows high, a snapping turtle swimming up her voice. "Well I _would_ test it on myself, but I can't exactly maintain an erection to start with!"

"And you think I can?" _Wait. Fuck._ Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose between closed eyes and held up a hand. "No- _no_ , of course I _can_ , what I mean is-"

"I know what you meant, Fitz." Simmons had gone quiet, wrapping her right hand around her left elbow and vice versa. She sighed. "Look, I'm sorry for not listening to you before. I'd rather work with _you_ , but- if you're that uncomfortable… I can find someone else to help with testing." She breathed in, chewing at her lip. "Jonesy, perhaps."

 _Dear God, no._ The last thing that troglodyte needed was another reason to discuss his boners. _Bro-ners_ , Fitz's brain corrected automatically. He coughed, throat suddenly a bit dry. "Jonesy? Is that really… erm, why him, exactly?"

Simmons shrugged. "Well, for one, he's quite easygoing, and it takes a _lot_ to embarrass him. Although," she made a face, "I don't relish the prospect of kissing him. Perhaps I could ask Anderson..." she trailed off, musing softly about the seemingly bottomless well of exes she might contact for help, and busied herself tidying up her workstation.

Fitz ran a hand over his jaw. Though she was covering it admirably, Simmons' disappointment was a scythe at his neck, and he felt incredibly guilty forcing her to go through her 'Rolosex' of former boyfriends for alternative test subjects. He opened his mouth to apologize, when something about her words floated back to him. "Whoa- kissing? What're you talking about?"

Her tone was matter-of-fact as she carefully packaged her samples for storage. "Well, it _is_ based off Agent Carter's knockout lipstick. It only makes sense to set up testing conditions that would mimic the way the product's going to be used in the field."

"All right, but then, you- you're gonna-"

"Administer it?" She peeled off her gloves, watching him closely. "Yes, why wouldn't I?"

"Right, okay." Fitz nodded once, processing the new information. Despite his nervousness about using the product himself, the idea of Jemma kissing anyone else, undoubtedly in front of him, twisted his guts into sailor's knots. His memory shot, unwanted, to those few nights when he'd seen her on a date, and he knew instantly that he never wanted to feel that way again. "Actually, no- you know what?" He screwed up one side of his face, pretending to think. "I don't think we should share the details of our project with anyone. Cutthroat competition and all that."

A smile unfurled slowly over the corner of her mouth, and she looked as though she were enjoying a secret joke. "Are you sure, Fitz? I'm sure with the right confidentiality clause-"

"And in what parallel universe d' you think Jonesy is capable of keeping his mouth shut? Especially on the topic of, y'know, _Bonesy?_ "

"You make a good point." She raised her eyebrows, plainly pleased.

"Yes, well, I'm rather known for my smarts, Simmons."

"So you're saying you'll help?" She stepped closer, tossing her used gloves in the bin, and clasped her hands expectantly.

"I mean… I just think it'll be better for the project if I'm the one to test it with you. You know, for- for science."

"Absolutely." Simmons bounced up on her heels and quickly pecked his cheek, beaming. "Oh, Fitz, this invention is going to help so many people!"

Fitz pretended his ridiculous grin was due to her enthusiasm, and not the kiss he could still feel resonating through his face. _Maybe this won't be so bad._

-o-

 _This is a disaster._ There was no way Fitz could keep all of this information straight. He clicked on another image thumbnail, this time a French kissing tutorial. He didn't think that the lipstick trial would go quite so far, but it couldn't hurt to be ready, just in case.

 _At least this one has pictures._ Most of the sites he'd found focused on how to behave on a date: how to flirt, drop hints, read the signs of rejection - _now there's one that'll probably come in handy_ \- in short, all useful tips, but not exactly germane to his situation, and he was beginning to stress out. Fitz had merely wanted to remind himself where all the different parts of his mouth were supposed to go. _And what do I do with my hands again?_

Instead, the Internet seemed set on reminding him that he was _not_ dating Jemma, and that if he was going to be kissing her, he probably should be. But Fitz couldn't afford to dwell on those kinds of thoughts - he'd seen the men she dated, and the ones that hit on her shamelessly, which was why he knew enough not to entertain the idea that she might want to kiss him for some reason other than science. _Down that road lies madness._

Groaning, Fitz dropped his face into his palms and rubbed his thumbs over his temples. He was making entirely too much of this. It wasn't his first kiss, after all. Hell, it wasn't even his first kiss with Simmons. So why was he getting so nervous? _Someone needs to write one of these called 'How to kiss the woman of your dreams without letting on you like her'._ And the sequel: _Just grow a pair and tell her, you fucknut._

Still, he supposed, scrolling past an infographic on foods to avoid before kissing, it could be worse. _I could have braces, too._

-o-

 _Perfect._ Fitz finished smoothing out the last groove in the metal cylinder of the lipstick casing, dusting it off with a microfiber cloth. Simmons' specs had actually proven a tad bit more challenging than he'd originally thought - he'd had to come up with an alloy that wouldn't react with the medication inside the makeup - a welcome distraction from the thought of what said medication would _do_ to him. But for now, he was simply pleased at a job well done. He was so engrossed in admiring his handiwork, in fact, that he completely missed what Simmons had been saying.

"Fitz?" Simmons asked as she switched her attention between her legal pad and the simulation currently running on her computer screen. Her eyes flicked to him, pausing in between jotting down notes on the yellow paper. "How many data points do you think we should aim for?"

A sound suspiciously like a squeak jumped in Fitz's throat. _Data points._ The number of times they'd test the product. The number of times they would need to kiss. He tried not to sound too eager. "Obviously, the more thorough we are, the better our chances of winning, yeah?" _Cool. Be cool, man._ His lifted one shoulder in an _I-don't-even-care_ shrug. "I suppose we could just aim to test as many variables as we can…"

Simmons tapped the end of her pen against her lip. "True. There are a number of conditions in the field that could affect how well the drug works on the target. We don't have to test everything, of course - when we win, they'll conduct more extensive trials, but at the very least we should measure the rates of absorption across the mucous membranes-"

"Try it on a full versus empty stomach-"

"-different initial rigidity levels-"

"-any interactions with alcohol-"

"-oh, and compare it against a placebo, I think."

They ran out of words together, while Fitz did some quick calculations in his head. "And the deadline's in a month?"

"29 days, actually." Simmons raised both eyebrows, swiveling in her computer chair to face him. "We'd better get to work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agent Holloway is named after Joan Holloway from Mad Men. The other guest speakers at Sci-Tech are also references to fictional women who have suffered some kind of sexual attack or coercion.  
> Jonesy and Kibbles are frequent guest stars in my Academy universe and first appear in Oh To Be Young.  
> Anderson is an oblique reference to Elizabeth Henstridge’s real-life boyfriend.  
> Fitz’s “first kiss with Simmons” occurs in The Shots You Don’t Take.  
> If you want to read a truly fantastic story that incorporates “kissing for science” check out [Don’t Try This At Home](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1717586) by awkwardspiritanimals.  
> And for the NSFW version of kissing for science, check out the utterly side-splitting  
> [An Elaborate Proof](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3246122/chapters/7073807) by memorizingthedigitsofpi
> 
>  **Acknowledgments**  
>  Thanks as ever to my beta Amanda, [amandajoyce118](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amandajoyce118/pseuds/amandajoyce118), for being awesomely supportive and just a generally good person and for always being on hand to answer questions that are probably way too specific to worry about. Her work is also fantastic and you should go read it next. Thanks, gorgeous!  
> Shout out to [badscienceshenanigans](http://archiveofourown.org/users/badscienceshenanigans/pseuds/badscienceshenanigans), [Lavendergaia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendergaia/pseuds/Lavendergaia), and [EclecticMuse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/pseuds/EclecticMuse), who helped me brainstorm different possible directions for the fic when I first got my prompt -- there were at least five ways this could’ve gone, but I’m happy with the one I chose!  
> lavendergaia is just the best gosh-darn smut consultant I could have asked for -- she’s a real sweetheart to work with, and you should definitely check out her submissions for this fic exchange (Grocery Store Date AU and Zombie Apocalypse AU) because they are pants-down amazing!  
> And the inimitable badscienceshenanigans deserves all the props for being a laboratory badass and coaching me on the “science” part of the prompt, and for suggesting and helping me flesh out so many ideas it’s ridiculous -- science is not my wheelhouse, y’all, and she’s incredibly busy but still went out of her way for me, and she’s hilarious and you should all be reading [Copenhagen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2535083/chapters/5635556).  
> I just do not deserve all these wonderful ladies!


	2. Chapter 2

Fitz looked up at the ceiling and willed his face to stop burning. "Why is this necessary, again?" He couldn't see her face, but he could imagine her flat look from the slight exasperation in her breath.

"If we're going to have any chance at reliable data, we need to identify the most promising conditions for-" she colored slightly, "-for your arousal. Please answer the question."

Fitz made a noise that was somewhere between a wheezing pug and a kazoo. He couldn't very well explain that it shouldn't be difficult to get himself aroused as long as she was in the room. _Better to seem uncooperative than a pervert._ Still, he forced himself to look at her, and found her gazing at him with undisguised sympathy.

"I know it's a bit strange… but we're both mature adults, respected professionals in our disciplines. There's no reason this needs to be awkward unless we let it."

"Okay. Yeah, you're right." He exhaled. "Let get this over with."

"All right, then." She shifted the clipboard in her hands and faced him brightly. "How long does it normally take you to achieve an erection?"

Fitz bit the inside of his cheek, hard, and pressed the pads of his thumbs over his eyelids. _This is gonna be a long day._

-o-

' _Preferred hair color.'_ Twisting his pencil like a washcloth, Fitz thought of Simmons' dark caramel curls and carefully wrote down, "Brunette." This was actually pretty easy. _Yeah. Yeah, I can do this._

A few questions down, he swallowed roughly against the quiet of his bedroom when he read, ' _Specific sexual proclivities.'_ His mind jetted straight to an image of Simmons, her hair swept up into a messy ponytail, vigorously scrubbing out the graduated cylinders at the conclusion of an experiment. _Not that, you creep. God._ He filled in, "Not applicable."

He couldn't blame Simmons, not when he'd hardly been able to look at her as she spoke. After an hour or so of prying the answers from him, with Fitz squirming and blushing at every turn, Simmons had decided perhaps it would be best if he answered the questionnaire on his own. And it wasn't that he minded the homework, even if he didn't love homework enough to marry it like _some_ people.

But though it might be easier to answer without an audience, the form was covered in hastily scratched-out answers and pinkish-black erasure marks, a byproduct of Fitz's awareness that Simmons would be reading this later. The thought alone made the fabric of his shirt collar stick a little tighter to his neck. And sitting here, faced with an array of photographed breasts and buttocks, tasked with rating them in order of sexual attractiveness, Fitz wondered yet again if this had all been the worst mistake of his life.

-o-

"That's ridiculous! No. Absolutely not."

Fitz planted his hands grumpily at both sides of his waist, wondering if he wasn't just picking a fight because it was familiar territory. _Unlike the next phase of this project._ "What? I think it's the perfect name. You've had more than your share of the work on this project - names are a sort of specialty of mine, Simmons, and you're not exactly being very supportive."

She tossed him a withering look. "We are _not_ calling it the No Mo' Erectus, Fitz!"

He scoffed, mouth hanging open in offense and his voice driving up a notch. "Give me one good reason why not."

"Oh, my God- the objections are innumerable, but for one, we need a name that could _conceivably_ be printed on the lipstick cap without drawing undue attention. Or at least one I can say without my eye twitching." Simmons brought her hands up to her collar, burrowing them into the curls on both sides of her neck and fitfully combing her fingers through. "And if you're looking for something to do, you still haven't adjusted the FirmTek machine."

"Yeah, well, that's because I'm not putting, er, y'know, _myself_ -"

"It's one of the more important pieces of data we'll be dealing with, Fitz, I should think you could say the word 'erection'."

"-Alright, _fine_ , I'm not putting my _erection_ inside that thing!"

"But we're going to need the readings, Fitz! Consistency is important! If you won't use the modified penetrometer-"

"No, I won't, Jemma! I don't want any part of me anywhere near the-" he shuddered, " _penetrometer_ , thank you."

"Modified!" she added defensively. "It doesn't _actually_ penetrate anything!"

He stared, face puckered in horror. "Wow. _Not_ a good enough reason to use the word penetrate."

-o-

"The Cold Shower."

"No."

The Bone Saw."

She sighed. "No."

"The Soft Serve. The Limp Cocktail."

" _No._ "

"The Dick Nixin'?"

"Fitz!" She looked mildly scandalized.

"Well I don't see _you_ coming up with anything." He arched an eyebrow. "So I suppose we'll just have to go with one of mine."

She set down her notebook and breathed in deeply, capping her pen and twirling it between her fingers. "Fine. Agent Carter's version was called Sweet Dreams; how about, erm, Soft Blush?" She bit the end of the pen. "Wilting Rose?"

"See? Now you're gettin' it!" He shot her a cocky grin. "Clearly, mine are better, but good effort, Jemma, really."

She threw a crumpled-up piece of notepaper at his chest.

Then inspiration struck. "The _Limpstick_."

Jemma fought off a smile. "If we must."

-o-

Fitz checked to make sure the privacy screen was up, tugged down the waistband of his one-size-too-large gym shorts, and wondered if there was any way in Hell he could get out of this now. Odd, that they were designing a product so that S.H.I.E.L.D. agents wouldn't be forced to do things they didn't want to, when here _he_ was. In the lab where he did his most responsible, sophisticated work, staring at his own genitals while his best friend in the world waited a few feet away. Taking a deep breath, he maneuvered his reluctant penis - _oh, merciful Mother, there's a fun phrase_ \- through the flexible fabric cuff he'd designed, pulling the head through before sliding the device up to rest just above his testicles. Next, just a quick tug to make sure he still had enough access to go to the bathroom or… well, anything else he might need to do. Simmons sounded in his head - _Masturbation, Fitz, it's a perfectly normal biological process._ The last step was to carefully thread the attached wires down his thigh to keep them from getting tangled up in… well, anything important.

 _Hmmph._ It hadn't even been that tricky to come up with a viable alternative to Simmons' precious durometer or - _yick_ \- penetrometer. Just because he vehemently refused to have his knob smashed inside the FirmTek machine, didn't mean he wasn't going to help her collect the necessary data. This new device was relatively comfortable, even if it did look a bit like the world's least appealing scrunchie, and the way it sat around him, it could measure both stiffness and blood pressure, as well as take a 3-D scan to show the angle and fullness of his… _just say it._ Erection. _There._ He was fine with it, obviously. _Erection, erection, erection._

Fitz groaned internally at the sound of his brain, and tried to focus on the positives. The best part about wearing the monitor cuff was that he could keep his shorts up over it, as long as they were loose enough and wouldn't interfere with the readings. This cut down drastically on the chances of Simmons catching an eyeful of his 'unappreciated genius'. And though the cord tethering him to the readout wouldn't let him go far, at least he could get some other work done in between testing points. _Thank Heaven for small miracles._ Fitz rolled his lab chair into the corner by the counter, plopped a pair of textbooks onto the desk alongside it, and sat down to wait for Simmons.

-o-

"Okay. So now that you're… all suited up, we need to get a baseline for what kind of ranges we'll be dealing with. We'll start with the easiest task: an at-rest reading. Simple enough, yeah?"

"Sure, yeah, okay." Fitz swallowed against the lump in his mouth. "What, er… what do you need me to do?"

"We'll just spend a few minutes sitting and talking, so we can collect enough information from the monitor for a good average. We need about ten to fifteen readings. Assuming, of course, you're not aroused right now," she joked, her voice making it clear how laughable she found the notion in this clinical environment.

"Yeah, no. This isn't exactly my fantasy date, no offense." God, he was such a fucking liar. This was 100% his fantasy date, except maybe Simmons would like him back, and there wouldn't be any hardware attached to his… software. "Yep. Totally at rest."

They were both in for a rude awakening.

-o-

"Ugh, Fitz!" A frustrated Simmons threw her hands in the air. "You're out of spec _again_! Now we've got to start over."

"Hey, don't put this on me! I can't- it's got a mind of its own, alright?" After all, she was the one who'd had the gall to snap on her lab gloves like some kind of sexy veterinarian.

Her eyes pleaded with him as she reset the values. "I mean, can't you just- sit still, or something?"

Fitz was fairly certain he looked like a squashed poinsettia. _Oh, sure, just 'sit still'._ "That's not how it works!"

-o-

"If you wouldn't mind, er," Simmons' voice hitched just the tiniest amount, "maxing out, then we'll have our complete baseline and can move on to the actual testing." She dropped a _Playboy_ into his gobsmacked hands, and drew the screen closed once again.

 _What. The Hell._ Fitz wanted to sink down into the ground like Atreyu's sad horse in The Neverending Story, but he made his vocal chords work long enough to squeak, "Erm, Simmons? What should I… that is, what exactly d' you mean by _maxing out_?"

"Oh!" It sounded like she was chewing on her pen again. "I- Well, I didn't know if you needed to- I suppose it's- er… whatever's most comfortable for you? I could give you a few minutes alone."

 _Please._ _Or just stop watching my stats while I'm nursing a semi._ "Yeah, I think- could I have a moment? That actually would be quite helpful, thank you."

As the door slipped shut, Fitz found himself cursing Simmons' near-obsessive need to gather as much information as she could before starting an experiment. _Baselines. Who needs'em, anyway?_ (They did. They'd require a good baseline to accurately interpret any future results.) To that end, Fitz would have to wear his monitor cuff while he got as… turgid... as possible, doing his best to stay professional. As professional as he could be with basketball shorts on his legs and a Playboy in his hands. It wasn't _impossible_ to 'max out' without channeling Old Faithful, he told himself. Just hard. _Er, difficult._

He could do it, though. He wasn't an animal. Besides, the last thing he needed was to end up trapped in place by a mess and machine of his own creation. He could picture it now, fingers sticky with his genetic legacy, tapping out a Text of Shame to Jemma in the hall. _Data collected. Please bring tissues._

 _Yeah, that's not gonna happen._ He shuddered and forced himself back on task. Agents like Holloway were relying on him to avoid being compromised in the field. This was for the project, for the win, for the good of the entire organization. _For Jemma._ Simmons needed him to prove that he could get hard and stay hard? No problem. _You're welcome, lady agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ Leopold Fitz was here to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A FirmTech machine is actually a penetrometer used to measure the hardness of fruit for agricultural and scientific purposes. Not penises, though.


	3. Chapter 3

"Fitz, are you ready to test the prototype?" came Simmons' soft question from the other side of the translucent accordion screen. He heard her quiet sigh, could just barely make out her silhouette- and suddenly, the computer screen connected to his monitor cuff betrayed him with squiggly lines and unsubtle beeps. _Ruddy Hell._ There was nothing to do now but think about maths and try to play it off.

"Yeah. Yep. Just- all right." Standing up, he pushed open the divider and found her waiting in front of said computer, watching the readout with approval.

"I see you've started working yourself up to full arousal. Good initiative, Fitz!" she beamed.

He supposed he should be pleased she thought it was intentional on his part. Didn't stop him from wanting to hide in a crawl space.

Simmons kept going. "We can test the compound while you're hard, see how well it works to _reverse_ the course of the situation rather than prevent it. That's a more realistic scenario in the field, anyway."

 _Oh, Holy Mother._ Apparently she didn't want him thinking about physics theorems and Quidditch statistics after all. _Apparently_ , she wanted to snog him - no, not snog, _test the product_ , it was all very official and necessary - while he strained against his pants like some sort of spring-loaded snake in a prank can of Pringles.

"I mean, obviously we'll test as many possible contingencies as we can, but this is good to start with." Simmons had started puttering around, buzzing with nervous energy as she washed her hands, grabbed the stopwatch, and set it on the counter next to the Limpstick within easy reach.

"I, erm… I concur," Fitz said, mostly going over the details in his mind so he would have something to think about besides Jemma's mouth on his. As much as he was looking forward to that part, it was entirely too distracting to let his mind wander there right now. "And you're _sure_ it's safe? You don't need to run any more analyses?"

She wrinkled her nose, presumably at the implication she would ever move forward on a plan without fully assessing the risks. "We've been over this, Fitz! The drug we're using was approved _years_ ago to decrease blood pressure, I've simply made a few tweaks to adapt it to our needs." She walked over to stand directly in front of him, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I promise, nothing terrible is going to happen."

 _Define terrible._ Fitz knew he'd been grumpy more days than not lately, and resolved to bite down any further argument, a task that became effortless as soon as he felt her slender fingers brush his neck. Standing in front of her like this, his eyes inevitably went to her full, cherry-pink lips, and he glanced at the Limpstick sitting on the counter nearby.

Her gaze followed his eyes and she ducked her head for a moment, tucking her hair behind one ear. "Ah, well, if you're… at the starting line? Then I suppose we can begin." She peered quickly at his readout, which had once again started singing the song of Fitz's libido, and tugged at the wrist of her cream-colored jumper sleeve. "Looks like we're all set there."

At this point, Fitz thought, he'd be well pleased when the thing worked and he didn't have to worry about his body giving him away at every goddamn turn. He inhaled slowly as Jemma uncapped the Limpstick and painted her mouth, leaving it plump and glossy.

She angled her face up and stepped closer. _This is for all the marbles._ This was what he'd been looking forward to, why his search history now included phrases like 'kissing despite goggles', the reason he'd brushed his teeth twice that afternoon - and even if he never got to kiss her in the 'right' circumstances, well - being there in the lab, kissing her for _science_? It all seemed strangely perfect.

She was so close now, he could see every freckle scattered across her forehead and smell the light vanilla of her moisturizer. Fitz thought back to his research. He placed one hand on the side of her face, thumb gently tracing her cheekbone, and watched her eyelids flutter closed as he breathed out through his nose. Dropping his head until their lips were only inches apart, he stopped and waited.

After a beat, Jemma's eyes opened, and seeing him staring back at her, she pressed a button on the stopwatch, giving him the smallest of nods before bridging the distance between them.

 _This is fine. No big deal._ Fitz had kissed Jemma before, only once to be fair, but other girls since, so he wasn't a _complete_ novice. These were the thoughts he attempted to hold firmly in his mind as he was kissing _Jemma fucking Simmons_ , dear Lord, this might be the best day of his young life, and he should _definitely_ go buy a scratch-off later. Then she moved both her hands to his shirt collar, and pulled him in tighter, and he really couldn't be bothered to try and control where his thoughts went.

It was a bit like seeing a box of photographs spread out on the floor and not knowing which one to look at first. His brain couldn't pick, so it tried to take everything in at once. The odd (but not off-putting) taste of the lipstick, her warm skin under his hand, how her breath (or was it his?) hitched slightly as their lips met, that blasted monitor beeping away, the way her face took up his entire field of view until he shut his eyes in an attempt to concentrate. _What did that article say about aiming?_ Fitz didn't think he should start putting his tongue where it wasn't invited, but if memory and research served, he could probably get away with moving his free hand to her waist. When he did, Jemma tilted her head just a fraction, blessedly putting an end to the game of chicken their noses seemed to have been playing.

The new angle was the kissing equivalent of maple-pecan waffles, and he muted a groan as his hand moved off her cheek to comb through her hair, grazing the shell of her ear and causing her to gasp and pull away, just a hair's breadth.

Some idiotic instinct made him ask, "Is it time to stop?"

He thought Jemma might have been leaning in again, before the question tumbled out of his stupid pie-hole. She drew back fully to arm's length, eyeing him with a puzzled brow.

"When it is, the alarm will sound… but we can stop now if you-"

 _Fuck._ He should never have said anything. "No- no, we can keep going."

She relaxed visibly. "For consistency, we should-"

"Yeah, let's just-

"-wait for the timer," they agreed simultaneously. Jemma smiled her encouragement, and Fitz didn't need to be told twice before eagerly stepping into her space.

In his haste to get back to where they'd been, though, he stumbled. His chin crashed into her upper lip, drawing a yelp, and he immediately stilled. "Oh, fuck- are y' okay?"

She prodded the area gently, wincing. "Yes, I think so. Just smarts a bit." The corners of her eyes wrinkled with a pang. "However, I do think kissing's off the agenda for a bit." She deactivated the stopwatch before it could go off.

His features twisted. "Argh, I'm sorry, Jemma. I wasn't- I should've-"

She took his hand, quieting him with a gentle squeeze. "It's all right. I mean, obviously we'll have to retest for _this_ particular set of circumstances, but considering it was our first time trying things out, I'd say we did rather well!" She started to grin, but backtracked when her bruised skin stretched past the point of comfort, and Fitz felt another stab of guilt.

It must have shown on his face and she assured him, "I'm fine, Fitz. We'll salvage what we can from this data, try again in a few hours, no harm done! And just think - tomorrow, we can start the double-blind! Aren't you excited?"

 _Phrasing_ , floated the ready reply to the top of his brain _._ And then, "Huh."

Now that he was thinking about it, Fitz noticed he wasn't _excited_ at all. "Simmons."

"Hmmm?" She'd gone off in her own head, flitting around the lab with her tablet and seemingly having forgotten their earlier hiccup.

" _Simmons_ ," he repeated, urgency speeding his voice. "I think it worked."

-o-

_5 minutes_

Fitz motioned to his crotch, breath starting to hitch, his mind a paralyzed jumble of terror and confusion. "I can't believe it. It's… _gone_."

"I know!" Simmons beamed. "Isn't it wonderful?" She skipped by and kissed his cheek on her way to the computer, eyes shining. _She's so happy._

Fitz couldn't join in her enthusiasm, even with that consolation cheek-kiss. He ducked behind the privacy screen and yanked open his shorts, staring down at the crime scene. "No, Jemma- I'm- there's _nothing_." He'd never been this soft in his adult life. Normally, even when he wasn't 'full throttle', he still had a little bounce to speak of. Right now, though, it felt… _like lookin' at a flattened water balloon._ "It's just _sitting_ there, Jemma."

"That's great, Fitz!" _Is she mocking me?_ She sounded positively bubbly over this, and he let his waistband snap back into place as he pulled aside the screen to stare at her in disbelief.

She kept speaking, heedless of his shaking head and wide, white-lined eyes. "And your numbers look _exactly_ as we predicted," she finished smugly, scanning the monitor readout in front of her with a huge smile. "Oh, think how much Maria Hill is going to love this!"

His tongue felt too large for his mouth. _Calm down._ He couldn't start panicking; Simmons had said it herself, this was a good result. _Breathe._ In, then out, and again. Yes. Good. Surely he couldn't stay this way forever. _After all, Simmons wouldn't let me die a virgin._

-o-

_1 hour_

"How's it coming?" He could hear her wince at the word choice. "I mean, er, progressing?"  
"Be easier without you haiverin' in my ear every two seconds," he barked into the phone. Fitz withdrew his hand from his sad, lifeless penis and gave each one an angry stare. _Wait, did it-_ Was he seeing things? _Did it_ _ **shrink**_ _?_ He closed his pants, too upset to even look.

She gave him an irritated sigh over the phone. "I'm only _asking_ because you had me step outside nearly five minutes ago, and _I_ need to return to work," she said snippily. "Not all of us can get away with sitting around the lab wanking." _Wow._ Future generations might've been robbed of his DNA. This was _not_ the time.

"Oh my _God_ , Simmons, you _told_ me to-" he bit off his retort when she swept back through the door into the lab, and cried out. "Hey! I might've still been-" he spluttered, opening the privacy screen to gesture at the general direction of his crotch, "-y'know, churning butter!"

She rolled her eyes as she strode over to the timer and reset the alarm for another thirty minutes. "I'm marking down 'product remains effective'. And the next time you go fuck yourself," - _really nice, Simmons, nothing accidental about_ _ **that**_ _word choice_ \- "you could at least _try_ using the pornography I got you!"

-o-

_3 hours, 22 minutes_

Fitz glared down in disappointment. He was just… all flopped out, like a dead fish. _This is the fucking worst._ He kicked the screen open and announced grouchily, "All quiet on the Scottish front."

She didn't even have the decency to look up from her scholarly journal. "Brilliant observation, Doctor Watson."

His face curdled like old yogurt, irritation spiking. "You said, and I quote, 'the effect should last a few hours'. Two is a pair, _three_ is a few, so, _obviously_ , my erection should have returned by now." But it hadn't. He couldn't stop the thought that blared through his head - what if it _never_ came back?

Simmons' face popped up over the top of the heavy publication, eyeing him with a hint of pride. "You said _erection_! Well done, Fitz."

 _Nice try._ "Stop avoiding the subject."

She gave him an indulgent look and checked her watch. "Right… I believe I told you _up to six_ hours."

 _Oh, heavenly Father._ He was only halfway through this ordeal? "Nope. No, I can't." He shook his head, quick rattling movements like wheels on a wooden toy. "I don't like it. Give me the antidote."

"Antidote?" Simmons furrowed her brow. "There's no antidote, Fitz."

"What?! Why not? That's just-" his nostrils flared, air going in and out like a prized racehorse, "-it's irresponsible, that's what. What if-" _what if I'm stuck this way,_ "-an agent had to reverse the effect in the field? Not everyone has hours to spend waitin' on…" he waved his arms, "their _wand_ to cast spells again."

"Fair point, Fitz; we'll see what we can do about possible countermeasures. But for now, you _do_ have hours to spend, so please try to relax."

"Oh, sure, relax," he huffed. As if it were that easy. It used to be. Most days, Fitz had a foolproof strategy to help him feel clear and calm. Imagining Simmons sometimes helped as well.

But how was he supposed to _relax_ , when the most effective method at his disposal might be lost to him forever?

-o-

_4 hours, 37 minutes_

Fitz's fingers drummed restlessly on his thigh as he tried to control the sweaty pallor that had taken over his skin. _Get it together._ Fitz was normally extremely level-headed and mature (or so his mum had told him) but his usual composure was starting to dissolve. Intellectually, he'd known what the prototype was going to do. Rationally, he should have been prepared. Emotionally, however, he was having a bit of a hard time.

Actually, 'hard time' was _entirely_ the wrong description. Fitz was freaking out. And as much as the grown-up half of his brain told him that this was to be expected, that Simmons knew what she was doing, that everything would be back to normal soon, the primal, driving part of him was in the middle of a full-blown breakdown. His thoughts looped continuously, bleaker and darker the longer he sat in silence.

_I'll never have another orgasm, never have sex, never have children. My biological imperative is moot. I have no purpose; I merely exist upon the world. What is life? What is the reason for my existence? Everything that once brought me pleasure has been stolen from me. All I am now is a set of arms and legs._

_Pasty ones._

-o-

_5 hours, 59 minutes_

"Six hours, Jemma. _You said._ "

"Believe me, I'm well aware of how long it's been," she muttered dryly, making a notation on the page. "And for the hundredth time, Fitz," she continued, a bit louder, "everything is going according to plan. There's _nothing_ to be upset about."

"Nothing to-" his voice climbed like Spiderman, "You made me take _drugs_! You _broke_ my _penis_!"

She scowled. "Ugh, Fitz! Your penis is fine."

He didn't stop to ponder what, in another scenario, might be a tantalizing statement. "You don't _understand_ , Simmons. You can't possibly know what it's like for me right now!" There was a miniscule chance he was whining, but he didn't care. _Simmons knew._ She knew this was going to happen and she'd let him go through with it anyway.

"Actually, incredible as it may seem," she snorted, "I'm not exactly aroused at the moment either." With a huff, she flumped down into her chair and started scribbling furiously.

"What's- what are you- Simmons!" He very nearly tripped over his cuff wires as he craned his body impotently to the side and tried to catch a glimpse of her clipboard. "What the fuck do you keep writing?"

Simmons locked eyes with him, a decision warring on her face. A second later, she leaned back, cracking her neck before reading off the page. "Subject 0 remains emotionally compromised hours after exposure."

"What the Hell-"

"Possible side effects include difficulty concentrating-"

"Simmons!"

"-irritability, loss of confidence-"

"I am _not_ -"

"-and paranoia." She stressed the last word pointedly and barreled ahead. "Field operatives should be briefed on potential side effects, and be prepared to use any vulnerabilities to their advantage."

Fitz couldn't believe his ears. _Is that all I am to her? An experiment? A 'target'?_ "Nice to know how you think of me, Simmons. Hi, I'm Subject Zero, and this is my friend Jemma, noted penis murderer."

Simmons looked at the ceiling and shook her head, annoyance tugging at her features. "It's science, Fitz! I have to record the results!"

 _Here's a result_ , he thought grimly. _I'm damaged… because of what_ _ **you**_ _did._

_To my tallywhacker._

-o-

_6 hours, 8 minutes_

Fitz flipped despondently through the pictures of panting, buxom women, hoping one of them would wake his sleeping prince. "Ah, page 33. That looks like a fun sex tip. Too bad I'll never get t' try it." He breathed in sharply, no small amount of melodrama in the rise and fall of his chest.

Simmons set the mortar and pestle she'd been using on the counter with a thunk. "Oh, _my God_ , Fitz. I can guarantee, if you don't have an opportunity to be sexually adventurous, it won't be because of the Limpstick."

His face soured, a dried-out lemon wedge. "Erm, _wow_. Is that a slight against my character?" He pointed an accusing finger in her direction. "First you destroy my libido, one of my favorite things I'll have you know, and now you're makin' fun of me?" He shook the magazine at her, unintentionally flapping open the centerfold. " _You_ need to shush. Shush and think about what you've done." He narrowed his eyes, hissing, " _To your best friend._ "

She made a noise of frustration, muttering something about calling a waaambulance. "Honestly," she huffed, "is it so surprising that something _we made_ turned out a bit more effective than anticipated? We're neither of us strangers to exceeding expectations."

Of course she would be proud of how well the drug worked. _Typical._

It was, to be fair, one of the things he loved about her - how unapologetically good she was at her job. If he had to put the fate of his 'big spanner' in anyone's hands - _don't think about your penis in Simmons' hands_ \- well, the point was that Jemma was the most capable person he knew outside of himself. Almost as if she could read his mind, Simmons posed another question, softer this time.

"You trust me, don't you?"

Thrown by the quiet shift in her attitude, Fitz arrested the barb poised on his tongue. Of course he trusted her. He shrugged. "Yeah."

She breathed out slowly. "Fitz… I know this is a bit- scary…"

"I'm not afrai-"

"-it's all right to be upset." She gazed at him, something indecipherable on her brow, before pulling a chair over to sit gently at his side. "I _am_ sorry for how long it's taking, but you must know I would never do anything to hurt you." She put a light hand on his polyester-clad knee, smiling reassurances. "You'll be right as rain in no time."

Fitz swallowed, looking down at her hand. She didn't remove it - quite the opposite. Fitz felt a hot jolt of surprise overtake him when her fingers began to dust over the boundary between athletic mesh and bare skin. _Is that meant to be calming?_ Surely Simmons couldn't be so naive as to think that fondling a man's thigh was _soothing_? If there was one thing to be grateful for with the Limpstick, it was that she couldn't tell- _Oh, hey, look at that._

"Er…" Fitz chuckled, as the blush crept up his neck and behind his ears. "What do you know?"

Simmons' eyes snapped to his, brightening. "You're back?"

She jumped from her chair and crossed hurriedly to the readout screen, letting out a small, triumphant whoop. Fitz felt his mouth stretch impossibly wide as the mountain that had been sitting on his chest broke apart, rolling off in boulders. His hands came up to cover his face, relief bubbling into sound. He laughed, clear and wild, like a child first stepping into snow.

When he felt Jemma's arms pulling him up from his seat, he all but leapt into her hug, both of them jumping with the heady rush of celebrating a successful trial. He could have kissed her.

He'd _get_ to kiss her, he realized.

Lowering his forehead to her shoulder with a gentle thump, he breathed her in, collecting himself before stepping away and tossing her a nonchalant glance. "So, same time tomorrow?"

Her eyebrows hiked in surprise. "If that's still okay with you…"

Fitz didn't think it was an exaggeration to say he was doing a great job of looking casually unaffected. He shrugged. "Give me some credit, Simmons. I never doubted you for a second."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can believe it, this section was even longer. I might post a deleted scenes or something. Can I help it if I just love paranoid Fitz snarking at Simmons for killing off his "little engineer"? Because I do love it. So goshdarn much.


	4. Chapter 4

That night, in the relative privacy of his bedroom in a shared apartment, Fitz celebrated the return of the Jedi. ('The Jedi' was his boner.)

Perhaps it was strange, that he should want to go anywhere near the family jewels after those agonizing hours manhandling himself in the lab. But that night, Fitz took a simple, life-affirming joy in the act of proving himself each time the opportunity came up. ('The opportunity' was, likewise, his boner.) The next morning, he awoke tired, hungry, and rather more confident than he could remember in recent history. He was ready for whatever Simmons could throw at him. _Bring it on, Limpstick._

So began a month of careful-at-first kisses in the lab, followed by hours of increasingly less hesitant data collection. They tested variable after variable - sometimes once, usually twice a day - and after ten times or so, Fitz found he no longer panicked when he felt himself go soft.

Instead, he began focusing his time and energy on how to impress Jemma during the trials. He shaved more closely, bought cologne, made sure he wore a clean shirt. He watched romantic movies and studied the protagonist's form during the more passionate kisses. He asked his roommate Clay for breath mint recommendations. He triple-checked the door and tried not to feel too ridiculous as he practiced making out with his closed fist.

And every day they tested the Limpstick - after dinner, after fasting, after water, after whiskey (those were fun). Starting 'flat' or starting 'tall', through quick kisses and longer snogs, they tested nearly every scenario they could think of in the name of responsible experimentation. If Fitz had been more of an optimist, he might even have thought that Jemma was trying to draw out the trials. Either way, though, he wasn't about to question it.

Unfortunately, things never stayed easy for long.

-o-

"It was bound to happen," Simmons said matter-of-factly. "Honestly, I'm surprised we didn't run into more problems on the _last_ drunk test."

"I can do i'! Stop, Je-hic!-Jemma…" Fitz whined from his position on the floor, simultaneously attempting to roll himself away from her probing hands and keep his modesty intact. _As much of it as I've got left, anyway._

"Stop wiggling about, Fitz, you're making this a lot harder than it needs to-" She smirked. "Well, perhaps not."

 _Crispy Christ on a stick._ Still, better this way than the other. At least the liquor made doubly sure he couldn't get a stiffy with her hands on him. _I_ _ **think**_ _that's a good thing._

"Will y' jus' untangle me? This is embarrassin' enough as i' is." Fitz's inebriated mumbling did his accent few favors, but he had faith Simmons would understand him. They'd gotten used to deciphering each other's voices, slurred words at the Boiler Room, sleepy mutterings as they fought to stay awake during late nights revising, the rat-a-tat speed of a caffeinated discovery making four sentences sound like one. _It's only other people who can't tell what we're sayin'._

Simmons eventually got him to roll onto his back, prying his hand off the monitor cuff to begin gently loosening the wire wrapped around his… situation, while Fitz propped up the monitor screen to keep it from being pulled down on top of him as she tugged apart the cords. He tried not to think about the softness of her cool fingers on his unresponsive man-meat, tried to avoid analyzing the way her eyes had widened - _surprise? admiration? horror?_ \- at seeing him for the first time.

Jemma's sympathetic clucks did absolutely nothing to improve Fitz's mortification, and after the third or fourth plaintive groan, she bit the inside of her cheek, looked down where she was working and said, "You've really got nothing to be ashamed of, Fitz."

" _Wha'?!"_ He trained his eyes on her, but she'd kept her gaze locked on the task at hand.

Her tone was reassuring. "Accidents happen! It's my fault, really, I should have insisted on helping you with the hardware from the beginning."

"I could've done i', if I hadn't-"

"Tripped, I know."

He pouted. "Stupid shoe got in the way of my foot."

She hummed noncommittally, before releasing his manly bits and pulling his shorts back up with a brisk nod. "Well, that's done! Didn't even harm the monitor ring."

He frowned. "S'not a _ring_ , Simmons. It's a cuff. I doubt I'd put a ring on m' bits."

She met his eyes, briefly, and seemed about to say something else before closing her mouth with a pretty flush. "Of course. What was I thinking." She knelt, holding a hand out to him to help him sit up.

He didn't take it. Instead, he clunked his head back against the tile floor with another groan, feeling like he needed to laugh or cry. _Or both. Preferably at the same time._

"Fitz…" she'd put on her patient face, tilting her head and letting her hand fall to his arm, rubbing soothing tracks from his elbow to the inside of his bicep. "What's the matter?"

He gave her a flat look before squeezing his eyes shut and pressing a palm to his forehead. "Take a guess, Watson."

She continued in a tone that was likely meant to bolster his spirits. "If it makes you feel better, you shouldn't worry about people seeing your penis. It's perfectly average!"

 _The fuck?_ His eyes flew open and he stared, agog, as Simmons twisted her fingers together and rushed ahead with her reassurances. "I mean it, Fitz! Most women don't like a man who's too large," she chuckled awkwardly, "that's a myth. In fact, the most well-endowed man in the world-"

"Christ, Simmons-"

"-actually can't have sex with women, unless it's anally-"

"What the _absolute Hell_ -"

"-and even then he can't fully penetrate! You see, the vagina can only take-"

"Simmons, _stop!_ "

She stilled, half-gesturing in midair and her cheeks going pink. "Well I'm only trying to make you feel better…" she trailed off, a bit huffy.

Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll feel better if you never, ever bring up the _Guinness World Pecker_ again. Deal?"

-o-

"So, er… my roommate found some of the 'visual aids' you insisted I take home with me."

"Why would you leave them where- you know what, never mind." Simmons craned her neck to stretch the tension out of it, sweeping her hair over one shoulder. She'd done something different with her hairstyle today, curled it perhaps, and his throat was thick with unsung dreams just from looking at her. "So, what did Clay think? Did he like the pictures?"

Fitz drummed his palms against the front of his thighs. "Well, he didn't judge me, so there's that." Clay was a good guy. "Even offered to let me have some of his old magazines."

"Used pornography. _Tempting_." Simmons' disgusted nose scrunch telegraphed exactly how appealing she found that concept.

They sat in silence a few more moments, until Fitz couldn't hold off any longer. "Actually, he did like one of the pictures."

"Mmmm?"

"Yeah." Fitz was quiet for a single beat, then, "I have to ask, Simmons. Did you Photoshop me a naked Amy Pond?"

" _No_ ," came the immediate reply. And, after a pause, "I got a friend to do it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fitz's roommate Clay is named for one of my Secret Valentine's friends.
> 
> At the time this would have been taking place, Amy Pond was not the Doctor's companion yet. I apologize if the anachronism bothers you. I do a little more with the idea later on, and Amy Pond was a better fit.
> 
> Thanks to [memorizingthedigitsofpi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi) for the 'shopped Amy Pond in a custom TARDIS corset!


	5. Chapter 5

Kissing Jemma Simmons was his absolute favorite thing.

And, Fitz had to admit, the arrangement _was_ strangely comforting. He could let his body react to her under the guise of the experiment, pretend he was thinking about someone else, and rest easy knowing he never had to worry about things getting out of hand. Even if he'd been fool enough to let himself overstep with Jemma, even if she could have cast aside her usual 'type' and her professionalism, the Limpstick was a far stricter chaperone than any teacher or parent he'd ever known. It was a peculiar sort of freedom.

 _And it'll help more than a few agents out of a bind._ After all, that _was_ why they were doing this. He mustn't forget that. Even if, when their faces were moving in sync together, mirroring each other like floating ice, he desperately wished he could.

-o-

Jemma deepened the kiss, stacking their lips together, leaving him to kiss her upper lip while she sucked on his lower one. _Holy fuck._ She'd started doing that a few days prior, and damned if he was going to say anything to discourage her, even if the first time he'd nearly lost his balance from the head rush.

She was in her Keds today, forced to stand on tiptoe, so Fitz tightened his arms under her shoulders in a bid to better support her weight. It was a perfectly good reason, after all. _Just being a gentleman._ His mum hadn't raised him to just let a girl's legs get tired like that - _What kind of a friend would I be?_ \- and if it brought Jemma closer in, well, that simply couldn't be helped.

It was only when Fitz realized he'd backed Jemma into the edge of the counter, feeling her shift torturously against his hip, that he realized the Limpstick wasn't working. _Shit. Shit shit shit._ It was a relatively normal occurrence by now, being aroused around Simmons in the lab, despite the mixed feelings it stirred up and the fact that she was usually tracking his stats. But it'd never happened before with _quite_ so much body contact, and the medication _should_ have kicked in at this point, and it _wasn't_ , and Fitz was suddenly, animalistically conscious of his desire to rut up against her.

His hand lowered to her hip, digging into her skin where her blouse was riding up, but whether he meant to keep her away or haul her in was currently beyond Fitz's capacity for rational thought. It didn't matter, as it turned out, because Jemma chose that instant to slip her tongue into his mouth. The subsequent whimper that fled their lips was almost certainly his (80/20, if he'd had to guess), and Fitz hastened forward, pinning her to the unforgiving surface and accidentally jolting their faces apart. They stared at each other, all locked eyes and stuttering breaths, foreheads glued together. _Fuck, now what?_ His hand slipped up from her shoulder blade to the back of her head, holding her steady, nearly every inch of her plastered to him as his brain flipped frantically through all the research he'd done, searching for something to impress her.

_Bzzzzzt!_

Simmons jumped at the sound of the timer, and Fitz sprang back, half-turning in a poorly concealed attempt to hide the way his shorts had tented. Simmons tucked her hair behind her ears and checked the readout.

"No effect. I'd say we're dealing with a placebo, most likely." Her tone had started off ragged, and she cleared her throat, pasting on a cheery expression that juxtaposed oddly with her red face and tousled hair. "But you'll need to verify, just to be safe?"

Fitz swallowed the brick in his throat and grabbed a pile of notebooks off the desk to cover his lap.

"I didn't mean right now, Fitz," she smirked.

He followed her gaze to the journals and schematics in his hands. _Fuck my life._ Another glossy 8x11 of a naked Amy Pond - wearing only the Scottish flag - stared lustily at him from atop the stack.

-o-

Three weeks into their experiment, after playing through dozens of scenarios, Fitz was feeling comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that as long as the privacy screen was in place, he no longer made a fuss if Jemma stayed in the room during his 'checkpoints'. They'd realized early on that since it was impossible for Fitz to get himself physically worked up, it was a bit like asking Jemma to leave the room while he rubbed his foot.

In the beginning, of course, his need for solitude during the process had meant putting up with Simmons' constant complaints about missed productivity and frequent nagging to be allowed back in the lab. But soon enough it became clear that keeping Jemma out of the room was making things _more_ awkward rather than less, and they'd finally reached a happy compromise. Now, with the end of the trial rapidly approaching, and all the hiccups firmly behind them, everything was smooth sailing in the lab.

Or so he thought.

-o-

"Jemma…" Nothing. "Jemmaaaa…" His knee wouldn't stop bouncing. _Why won't it stop bouncing?_ At least _one_ part of his body was moving.

Fitz looked around for something to take his mind off things and lit on several issues of Simmons' hand-picked erotica on the desk next to his chair. Rolling a magazine up into a spyglass, her peered around the room before squinting through it at his non-existent stiffy. "I spy, with my little eye, someth- nope. Nothing."

Simmons finished measuring her reagents and turned around, a small frown marring her orchid face. "Still down for the count? That's unusual."

"You're tellin' _me_." Fitz took off his watch and knocked it against the edge of the countertop, as if he could somehow take out his current frustration on the timepiece. Seeing her eyebrows go up and a _tsk_ start to form on her lips, he dropped the watch in his shirt pocket and sent her a pleading gaze. "Jemma, I'm not… I'm tryin' not to worry, but it's never taken this long before! Are you sure you dosed me right?"

"The Limpsticks are pre-measured, Fitz, you know that." She leaned against the lab table with one hand, drumming her fingers on its shiny surface. "I'd ask if you ate anything out of the ordinary, but..."

"Yeah, you made me fast before testing, so…" Fasting days were by far the worst.

"Right. And you didn't have an adverse reaction the last time - it only took," she moved to the keyboard in front of the monitor readout, tapping away, "five hours and thirty-one minutes to get you back in business."

Fitz tugged at his hair in defeat. "Well, business is certainly not booming today." He chuckled sourly at his attempted joke. Levity didn't help. Nothing helped. Okay, that wasn't quite true. _Simmons helps._

She was still staring at the screen, biting her lip in thought. "Your stats look more heavily impacted today as well. Your stiffness rating is all off."

Fitz rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his forehead miserably into the heels of his hands. "Do I want to know?"

"Well… I assume you're aware of your maximum numbers?"

He was. Call it male pride or bodily curiosity, but Fitz hadn't been able to resist checking the stats for his 'love rocket' when it reached blastoff. "Yeah. Max is about 34 Newtons." _Like a rock-hard cucumber, baby._

"Right. Well, on average, your lowest is 6.4 Newtons," - _more like an old kiwi_ \- "and in the last few hours you've dropped to less than half that."

He dropped his forehead into his hands, groaning. "Simmons! Those're soggy raspberry numbers!"

Fitz heard a low noise, and when he raised his eyes, she looked to be biting the inside of her lips. _Is she laughing at me?_ "Hey! This is serious!"

She brought a hand up to cover her twitching cheek, an apology in her tone. "You're right, Fitz. If it helps, I really think it's just a fluke, but if I could take a look-" She motioned to his shorts.

"No!" Fitz backed as far away as he could while leashed by the monitor cuff. "Don't-" he swatted at the air in front of his crotch. _No touching m' berries._ Not while his numbers were at a record low, anyway. "I'd rather just wait, if that's all right with you."

"Of course." Her expression was sympathetic as she crossed to where he sat in his chair, squeezing his shoulder gently and patting down his shirt collar. "I've got a couple of ideas, then."

Fitz lifted his gaze hopefully, and she continued. "I've been working on the counter-drug you requested, but all I have so far is a formula. I could synthesize it for you, but…"

"It's never been tested, might do more harm than good."

"Exactly."

 _Yeah, screw that._ Fitz didn't fancy volunteering his penis for any more of this guinea pig malarkey.

"Your other choices are to simply wait it out, which you've been doing, or," Simmons walked to the door, shrugging out of her lab coat, "I can go get you some food." She must have had some idea how that suggestion would go over, judging by the smile on her face. "A full stomach may ameliorate the effects of the drug."

 _Is that a halo?_ Fitz thought he might be going a bit delirious. "That, uh… that sounds… Christ, Simmons, I'm _starving_."

"It's no problem. If it hasn't sorted itself out in an hour, we'll talk about more drastic measures." She hung up her lab coat and grabbed her purse. "I'll be back soon. In the meantime, I suggest you keep stress-testing the drug's effectiveness. There's a Fleshlight in the drawer by your knee if you need it."

Fitz's eyebrows practically flew off his forehead, and he successfully choked on his own spit. " _A what?!_ " _What the actual fuckity fuck._ Had she paid for that with departmental funds? _Talk about an equipment budget._

Hand on the door handle, completely self-assured as if this were a totally normal conversation for them to be having, Simmons answered lightly, "It's a sex toy. It might help!" Another minute of flummoxed staring and she tilted her head pointedly towards the privacy screen. "Come on, Fitz, don't dawdle."

 _Good Lord._ "Yeah, all right, I know." He scooted his chair forward to drag the divider closed.

-o-

"I'm back! I brought panini." He could hear Simmons through the screen - he couldn't help _but_ hear her, as she'd consciously made quite a lot of noise re-entering the lab, presumably to avoid surprising him in the middle of 'calibrating his equipment'. _Not like she's walkin' in on anything anyway._ He was like a wet sock down there. And his attempt with the Fleshlight had felt like trying to stuff a bag of oatmeal into a drinking straw.

"Are you decent?" He saw her arm extend past the divider, holding a paper bag that smelled about the way he thought Amortentia might. At his grunted assent, she rounded the border and offered him a quick wave. "How's everything going here?"

Fitz ran a tired hand through his hair. "God, Jemma, I never thought I'd be tired of wanking, but this is the actual worst." He couldn't avoid the defeated sigh that came out of him. His penis was failing in almost Biblical proportions. _The Second Not-Coming._

"Chin up, Fitz," she consoled him. "I'm sure you'll be back to stretching out your underpants in no time!" Her expression, deliberately bright, did nothing to convince him, and it soon twisted in consternation at his mood. "Eat your sandwich, yeah?"

He wolfed down his meal in relative silence, stopping only to give her a thumbs-up at the flavor, while she went over the data they'd collected from him over the month.

"So, really, taken all together, your stats today aren't that bad… oh, and look! Stiffness is back up to 4.8!" _Great._ Slightly firmer spoiled raspberries. _Kill me now._ "That's a good sign. I'll let you get back to it." She bent down and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. "I'll be right on the other side if you need me."

 _Need her?_ If she only knew. He untucked himself from his shorts, taking care to be quiet, and looked at the open centerfold. Despite the pretty woman gazing up at him from the glossy page, Fitz just wanted to imagine Jemma, the way he'd done so many times in the shower, but it felt wrong with her standing only a few feet away. After a couple of minutes working the portions of himself he could reach, he heard Simmons' optimistic voice, bubbly as ever.

"I almost forgot! Here you go!" Something slid under the screen towards his feet.

Fitz squinted at the paper on the floor. _Is that-_ "Simmons? How many of these Amy Pornds did you ask your friend to Photoshop?"

"Amy Pornd? Clever."

"I've always thought so." Fitz was pleased for the distraction. "So how many?"

"Oh, I don't know, Fitz. A dozen? You seemed to like them."

Fitz was touched. _Right. On the subject of touching._ He grabbed at himself again, but not even the Doctor's loveliest companion could make a dent in his conundrum. _Oh, Amy, you bad girl. That is_ _ **not**_ _how you use a sonic screwdriver._ It was useless. He groaned. "It's no good, Jemma."

"Well, maybe we just need to talk it through. What normally works for you in these circumstances?"

"Erm…" he couldn't very well say ' _you'_. "You know, the uh… all the regular things." When she didn't respond, he felt the vacuum of silence and supplied, "I just… girls, and I like when… when girls think I'm great?"

"Well, we all enjoy validation, Fitz." There was a pause, and he could hear the awkward bottlenecking of her next words. "You know I don't think I've ever told you, but you… you certainly have a _gorgeous_ pair of ears."

 _Sweet baby Jesus in the manger, no._ "Simmons, don't- you're not very good at flattery-"

"I beg your pardon? I _do_ think your ears are gorgeous." Great, now she just sounded mad. "You had better not be trying to tell me my own mind!"

"No." He swallowed. "Nope. Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good." She sounded more determined than ever. "Your ears aren't the only nice part of you, certainly. You're fairly symmetrical, if a bit pale. And your _forearms_ are actually _quite_ -"

"Simmons!" he pleaded. It might've been great to hear her say all that, if he hadn't known she was only doing it out of an overdeveloped need to be of assistance. "C'mon, please… you don't need to…" he trailed off, waving his arm vaguely about in a gesture she couldn't even see.

Another beat of silence. "Is it the magazines, then? Would you prefer a video? I've got earbuds. Or would you prefer something raunchier? I know you said in your questionnaire you didn't have any kinks, but people often lie on forms- oh, for the love of- I can't talk to you like this, I'm coming in."

"No, no- don't-" He caught sight of Simmons' slim fingers hooking into the side of the divider, and just barely had time to pull his waistband back up. She stared at him expectantly, concern in the set of her mouth, until he sighed, "Look, it's not the magazines. Well, not exactly."

She spread her hands slightly, silently asking ' _Then what?'_

His brain grasped around for what to say, something that wouldn't give him away too badly. "These women," he gestured to the photo, "they're quite fit, don't get me wrong," - _but they're not you_ \- "but their um, y'know," his hands came up to mime squeezing at his chest, "are a bit- well, you know how much I dislike party balloons, since the helium shortage, and I just can't get-"

"Ohhh!" she cried out in realization. "Well, that's easily sorted!" And suddenly, without further ado Jemma was pulling her blouse and bra up over her chest.

"Jemma! What are you doing?!" Fitz shrieked, clutching his armrest as his feet planted sharply into the floor.

Her shirt dropped back down almost as quickly as it had gone up, and she seemed to realize she'd crossed a line. Her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh! Oh, no. Fitz, I'm-" She rushed to close the screen between them and babbled through her next statement. "I'm so sorry! I thought- well, you've been such a good sport- and it seemed the least I could do- oh, God, just- excuse me, please."

Fitz heard the door slam closed as he stared down at his dumbfounded hands. _What the Hell._ Simmons had just _flashed_ him. It didn't make sense. They'd only been chatting, and then, all of a sudden her breasts were front and center in his line of sight. Seared into his mind's eye. Her perky, delicate, pale breasts, with those lovely rosy nipples, the perfect mouthful. Fitz had an image of those gorgeous breasts bouncing above him, moonlight streaming through the window, shadows casting across them and creating a stark relief that only emphasized their supple glory.

He was so invested in filing away every detail of the wonderful picture in his head, it was a minute before he noticed the insistent beeping of the readout screen. He checked his watch. Seven hours, fourteen minutes. Head swimming with relief, he uncuffed himself from the monitor and went to find Jemma.

She was just outside the door, leaned forehead-first against the wall, and the picture she presented was so pathetic that in his current exuberant mood, Fitz couldn't help but laugh.

"Hey, it's fine! Everything's good."

She stood up sharply, cheeks pink. "How do you mean?"

He scrunched up his face, running a hand over the nape of his neck. "I, erm… I know you were only tryin' to help?" He rushed ahead, "And you did. So, er… yeah," he stammered. "Thanks for- for lettin' me see your… I mean, they're very…" He sucked in a breath. "I _appreciate_ -"

"God, Fitz, no." She covered her face with both hands, pressing her palms to her flushed cheeks. "You don't have to _thank_ me."

"Okay, well." He scratched at his left ear. "Either way, they're good- _we!_   We're good."

She gave him a tentative smile and shuffled around him to step back into the lab. He followed her back in and helped as she recorded the data from this latest trial.

Once the air had cleared a bit and they were in a more familiar groove, though, he couldn't resist taking the piss. They were just turning off the lights and heading out the door when Fitz rounded on her with a wry grin.

"Oh, and Simmons?"

She paused in the middle of checking through her purse for her keys and faced him pleasantly. "Hmm?"

"You needn't be embarrassed about your breasts," he said breezily. "They're perfectly _average_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardness numbers for fruits and veggies are accurate. Penetrometers, man.
> 
> Amortentia is the love potion in Harry Potter. It smells like your greatest desires, sort of.
> 
> Props to leopolds and Anthropologicality for giving me the inspiration to have Jemma flash Fitz and have him thank her.


	6. Chapter 6

They were sitting on a bench under an oak that would have shaded them later in the day, but at this early hour merely made for a convenient place to wait for the library to open up. Simmons tapped away at her laptop while Fitz pretended to read, fretting instead over the fact that their last Limpstick test was that night. The thought of never kissing her again churned up his insides, fresh snow in the path of a dogsledding team. _Do I say something?_ On the one hand, there'd been occasional clues that Jemma enjoyed kissing him - the comforting press of her body against his, her arms snugging him closer, her tongue sweeping into his mouth like sunlight flooding a darkened room. He'd been over the details time and time again. If he could have been sure of the outcome, Fitz would have attempted any grand, twee, Nicholas-Sparks gesture to show her how he felt.

On the other, even if she _was_ having fun kissing him, Fitz knew it likely meant nothing - _It's simple biology_ had all but been her mantra that month, as many times as she'd repeated it when he'd gotten hard and nervous in front of her. And even if he could have convinced her they needed further research, with the deadline in a few days there was no chance of keeping up the trials anymore. His cocoon was about to break apart, and he could either risk the most important relationship in his life, hoping for a butterfly, or end up a cold, shriveled mess of gooey regret.

Fitz looked over at Simmons, placidly reading, comfortably silent and blissfully unaware of his inner quagmire. _God, she's gorgeous._ The seven a.m. sun glinted off her earrings - a pair he'd made from leftover deformable wing parts, after their first joint project - and he had to remind himself that he was already the luckiest guy he knew, just by virtue of getting to talk to her every day. _I can't mess that up._

Simmons broke him out of his musing with a befuddled frown and a surprised _hmm_.

"Fitz? Did you get an e-mail from Agent Weaver?"

"Hold on." He pulled his phone out from his jacket pocket and flicked it on. "Yeah…" he said, chewing at the cuticle on his thumb. "What do y' suppose that's about?"

"She's penciled us in for a meeting later today." Simmons furrowed a trepid brow, staring down at the screen. "I suppose we'll just have to wait to find out."

-o-

"Cadets Fitz, Simmons, please come in." Agent Weaver ushered them into her office and sat behind an imposing cherrywood desk, motioning for them to do the same in the leather-backed chairs opposite her. After a few seconds of settling in, she faced them with a stern gaze.

"Now, I know the pair of you are on the fast track to graduate at the end of this year. And your time at Sci-Tech has, thus far, been exemplary. Several of your prototypes have already been put into production. You should feel proud of your accomplishments."

They nodded, curious what this was about.

"However," she flattened them under an admonishing anvil of a look, "that does not mean you are exempt from the Student Code of Conduct. I received a rather disturbing account of your activities in the lab, and I thought it only fair I give you a chance to respond to these accusations directly."

Fitz looked at Jemma, her face a pale mirror of his own anxiety.

"Erm," Simmons squeaked, "accusations?"

Fitz, the beginning of his question overlapping the end of hers, managed, "What've y' heard?"

Weaver reached into her desk and retrieved a typewritten sheet. She read, "Cadets Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons were observed engaging in a variety of acts inappropriate for the laboratory environment - among them, prolonged body contact, kissing, indecent exposure and masturbation." She fixed them with a raised eyebrow. "Well? Is there any truth to this?"

There was no small amount of gaping at each other while they each tried to come up with something to say. Fitz's mind was a mess of pounding hoofbeats. They'd purposely set up the privacy screen to block the lab's cameras. The only way someone had seen behind the screen - _oh God I'm gonna be sick_ \- was if they'd rigged up their own independent surveillance. And considering the stakes of the competition, and the fact that their lab was shared by a dozen or so other contenders, it could really be anyone. But only one name was coming to mind. "Kibbles…" he growled, even as Jemma interjected with a high-pitched, breathless ramble.

"Agent Weaver, ma'am."

He could see Jemma's hands tightening on each other in her lap, her go-to tactic to keep them from flying up to her neck. She took a nervous breath and barrelled on.

"I can assure you, every one of those activities was conducted under perfectly controlled circumstances as part of our project for Commander Hill. You can ask Doctor Subramanyan! She helped us set up the double-blind trial. To be fair, we _have_ been keeping the details of our experiment secret, due to the nature of the competition, but if you'd like to see the data we've gathered so far," she reached into her messenger bag and pulled out an enormous binder, "I can take you through-"

"That won't be necessary, Cadet." Weaver's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing. "I'll be looking into this, however, so be prepared to turn your research over at my request. And I don't think I need to remind you that co-worker fraternization is highly discouraged by S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol." Her gaze softened into something a bit like compassion. "You may not be full agents yet, but make no mistake - top brass _is_ aware of you. If you're to be placed at a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility after graduation, we expect you to behave appropriately."

Simmons had been nodding furiously along while Weaver spoke, and jumped to fill the silence when she stopped. "I can promise you, there is _nothing_ to worry about on that front." Jemma leaned forward, earnest and needy, hands waving in negation. "Fitz- Cadet Fitz and I- we're not involved romantically, at _all_." She twitched, looking to him for confirmation. When no one spoke immediately, Simmons turned back to Weaver and rolled on ahead. "Naturally, in a partnership as successful as ours, there are bound to be rumors floating about, but we've certainly _never_ done anything-" she swallowed, an awkward giggle bubbling. "Honestly, if _this one_ ," she mugged animatedly, pointing her thumb at him, "has _any_ attraction to me, I'll eat my hat!" She paused, a small grimace marring her mouth. "Though clearly I'm not wearing a-"

Fitz put her out of her misery, interrupting with a cough. "Simmons is right, Agent Weaver. You don't have t' worry about us - there's nothin' goin' on."

-o-

"Fitz, we need to talk."

He didn't want to discuss it. "What's there to talk about?" _You made it perfectly clear you're not attracted to me, '_ _ **at all**_ ' _._

She sighed. "Well, for one, who's been spying on us."

Fitz rounded on her, incredulous. "C'mon, Simmons. Who do y' think? Who's had a vendetta against us since freshman year _and_ shares the lab _and_ has a weak enough moral compass to justify spying. Mmm?"

She inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Well, it _might_ not have been her, Fitz - a lot of the high-ranking Sci-Tech cadets are intimidated by us."

He leveled her with a flat stare.

"All right, all right. But what do you propose we do? Kibbles is devious; she would have submitted that letter anonymously-"

"Right, she'd want to get us into trouble-"

"-without risking investigation herself for her unsavory methods-"

"-and nothing to link back to her. But," Fitz's jaw clenched as a steel thought clanked into place, "there is something we need to do."

-o-

They stormed into the lab just as Kibbles was packing up her things.

"Hey! You can't just barge in like-" she cried out, face like a wasp.

"Headed home, Lopez?" he bit out. "Don't mind us - we'll only be a second." Fitz scanned the cabinets along the walls. With the way they'd set up their privacy screen, there were only a few places a hidden camera could be. He focused in on the wall right next to the fire extinguisher, squinting at the spot where a tiny section of plaster seemed to be chipped away. The shadow from the canister made it hard to spot without expressly looking for it, but Fitz dug his fingers in, felt around and pulled out a small spy-cam. "Before you go, though-" Throwing it on the tile floor, he crunched it under his sneaker and picked it back up. "Looks like you forgot something."

"You entitled, leprechaun-looking little asshole!" Kibbles was cursing. "Do you even know how expensive that is? That's S.H.I.E.L.D. spy-tech, moron."

At least she wasn't trying to deny it. "Shouldn't have used it t' screw us over, then."

"No you don't, you curly bag of dicks." She waved a threatening index finger in his face. "You've spent the last two years waving your trumped-up genius in my face. You broke it? You're gonna fix it."

"And why in the seven Hells," Fitz squared his shoulders, refusing to back down, "would I do a thing like that?"

"Because I've got video of you," Kibbles smiled, reptilian, "in the lab, hands down your pants, blowing reveille for your little fallen soldier. For _hours_. You really want that to get out?"

"Ugh, honestly, Kimberly!" Simmons' bored tone threw him for a loop. "Fitz isn't going to fall for this silly blackmail nonsense. If you've seen the footage, you know that anything you have on tape is just more record-keeping for our experiment! I, for one, would love to have a copy."

 _What is she doing?_ Was she serious? Did Simmons honestly think he wouldn't care whether the entire student body saw video of… _his_ student body? _And she wants a_ _ **copy**_ _?_

Kibbles switched her glare between the two of them, back and forth like a game of Pong. "I don't think so, Jenna. I've got you onscreen sucking face with Fizzledicks here, _and_ I caught you showing him your funbags." She crossed her arms, victory oozing off her like smog. "Weaver might have a soft spot for you nerds, but I show that video to any other ranking officer in S.H.I.E.L.D., and I could destroy your precious little partnership before it even gets off the ground." She took a few steps menacingly towards Jemma. "Which is why you're bluffing."

Simmons rolled her eyes, but Kibbles leaned into her personal space.

"So you listen up: I _am_ gonna need my camera back, and while we're making a wish list - you two," she pointed between them, "drop out of Hill's competition."

Simmons snorted blithely. "Do your worst." She pushed her face right into Kibbles', nose to nose, a pair of spitting cobras staring each other down. "Now, are you going to leave, or do I need to throw a stick?"

Fitz was feeling a lot of things at that moment, but tied for first was a sharp sense of awe at Jemma's trash-talking. He blinked, then snapped his fingers. "I get it! It's a dog joke, because her name is Kibbles."

Simmons arched a brow. "No, Fitz. It's a dog joke because she's being a bitch."

-o-

Fitz had been in a fair few fights during his time - was it really a fight if he was being stuffed into lockers and thrown into mud puddles? - but he'd never had to put himself in the middle of a catfight before. _It's not nearly as sexy as it sounds._ By the time he'd pulled Kibbles off and dragged Simmons out of the lab, thankfully unharmed, he was out of breath and his mind was reeling as he thumbed the ruined spy-cam in his pocket. They wandered vaguely in the direction of the dorms.

It was something of a surprise when they both spoke at the same time, not because of the act itself, which was a staple in their friendship, but because they were on such drastically different wavelengths.

"I think I can fix the camera if I just-"

"Well, obviously we're not going to fall for her little-"

Fitz stared at his best friend, his partner, who was normally so supportive, in open-mouthed shock. "Simmons - you can't possibly mean to gamble on this."

"Where's the gamble? There's no way I'm dropping out of the competition, that's certain, especially not now. We've got to show her she can't just push us around, Fitz!"

"Right, okay, except- didn't you _hear_ her? I know you were playing it cool in there, but I didn't think you were serious!"

"Oh, come on, Fitz! If - assuming the footage is even clear - she were to show all of Sci-Tech that video, what would they see? A pair of scientists, testing a product, monitoring bodily functions and gathering data! We can't possibly get into trouble for-"

"What would they see? _What would they see_ , Simmons? Erm, well, how about my _testicles_? Or does my privacy mean nothing to you anymore?"

She shifted her weight, somewhere between a childish bounce and a stamping foot. "Of course I care about that! I kept up _Subject Zero's_ anonymity in all my notes, didn't I?" Her brow knitted. "But this business with Kibbles, it feels like an empty threat. Besides, even if it's not, my breasts are also in the video, and you don't see _me_ worrying needlessly!"

"Well, of course not, they're perfect-" _gulp_ "-ly average, why would you ever be ashamed about anything?" _Nice save._ He squinted casually, settling one hand on his hip.

She might've been blushing, but between her agitation and the recent girl-on-girl fiasco reddening her skin, he honestly couldn't tell. "Ugh, _Fitz!_ " She waved her hands, setting off on another rant. "Why do you think governments don't negotiate with terrorists?" She stopped walking and gripped at his elbows, insistent, just for a few seconds. "We're so close to the finish line - we can't just let her _win_!"

Fitz was keenly upset by Kibbles' demands, but if he was being honest, the bigger violation had come from Simmons, casually thinking she could volunteer his naked body like that. _Her loyalty really is to science._ It was something she said at times, but here he'd been thinking it was a joke, all this time. Reality splashed icy over his skin, chilling him despite the warm summer afternoon. He stepped back.

"You know what, I've just- I need some time on my own. I've got to think about a few things."

Simmons sighed, the heavy sound of a woman burdened. "Fitz, you can't let her get to you like this…" She put a soft hand on his arm, but he couldn't meet her eyes. "Everything will be fine, I promise."

 _Making all sorts of declarations today, aren't we?_ He shook her hand off, and she stiffened.

Her voice was cautious when she spoke. "Just be back in the lab at seven, yeah? We've got the last trial." Her fingers braved his arm again, rubbing lightly against his sleeve. "Please, Fitz. I need you."

He'd never refused her before, not when her voice got sweet and imploring like that. _But there's a first time for everything_. He finally looked up into her hazel eyes, his heart splitting like a ripe cantaloupe.

Fitz's next words, barely more than whispers, scalpelled at his chest. "I don't know, Jemma."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a grade-A story that incorporates Fitz angst about having to stop kissing Jemma after he's gotten used to it, please see [Wait Out the Sun](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2386922/chapters/5273807) by Verbivore8642


	7. Chapter 7

_Decisions, decisions._

Fitz looked up at the clock - 8:01 p.m. - and back down to the phone in his hand. Four missed calls, multiple texts, even a voicemail. Fitz tinkered with the broken camera - no sense in _not_ fixing it, not when the simple repair gave him something to do with his hands as he worried - and scrolled through Jemma's texts, even as a new one arrived with a chime.

[From Jemma: one last data point come on fitz]

[From Jemma: where are you!]

[From Jemma: if you get here in five minutes i'll clean the lab for a week]

 _Amateur_ , he scoffed. It would take a lot more than a week of cleanup duty to sway him.

He tried to think the situation through logically: Kibbles, potentially, had a very upsetting block of footage featuring his 'six-inch sub'. And regardless of what Jemma said, the threats against their partnership worried him as well. Sure, Weaver was the sort who would investigate and ask for both sides of a story - but most of the higher-ups? They'd just see two people kissing, call a duck a duck, and flag them for an anti-frat violation. Not to mention, the thought of the whole school looking at Jemma's bare chest had him close to smashing the tiny camera even worse than before.

As for Jemma's argument - well, it was hard denying her something when she was passionate about it. And this project was her baby. ' _Just think of all of the wonderful stalling tactics this will open up!'_ Though Fitz had tried not to picture the specifics, he could imagine agents like Romanoff dosing a crime lord with the Limpstick, then promptly consoling him about his performance. In one move, the undercover agent could appear supportive, acquire leverage over their mark, and bond emotionally, all without having to undergo sexual intercourse. _It really is a good product._

And he always wanted to help Jemma, or more specifically, he never wanted to disappoint her. He wasn't sure if the Limpstick was so important to her because of the competition, or because she believed in the product, but he couldn't stand knowing he was letting her down. Her increasingly panicky texts, each one a sharpened trowel, scraped away with every _ping_ at the hole in his chest.

[From Jemma: look i know you're upset but hear me out]

[From Jemma: we have to finish the experiment because if we don't]

[From Jemma: we won't have anything to show for our time and everyone will think we were just having sex in the lab anyway]

[From Jemma: it will be exactly what she wants]

That was… actually a good point. Finalizing the data, entering the competition and making their prototype public - it might lead to some humiliation, but at least it would support their version of events. If only he could be as unaffected by the prospect of everyone seeing his limp science noodle.

He sighed, putting down the now-functional camera, and rubbed his fingers through his curls. Whether he went back and finished the trial or not, he was going to need to tell Jemma something. The phone buzzed in his hand.

[From Jemma: nakedamy7.jpg]

 _Oh, good grief._ This time Amy Pornd was decked out in a handful of strategically placed bow ties.

[From Jemma: you like that? plenty more where that came from. right here in the lab]

Despite the soup of nerves boiling in his stomach, Fitz couldn't help chuckling. She thought putting badly cropped pornography on his phone was the way to get him to play ball? He couldn't resist sending back a quick text poking fun at her Photoshop job.

[To Jemma: I've seen better]

He'd meant it innocently, just a small mickey-take, but as soon as he hit the green button, Fitz realized how it might come off to her. He nearly swallowed his tongue. All ten of his fingers morphed into thick, jellied tentacles as he frantically tried to follow up with an explanation, but before he could, he received one more text.

[From Jemma: didyoumean.jpg]

Fitz stared in surprise at the picture message glowing up at him. He'd know those nipples anywhere. _God damn it._

He grabbed his backpack and headed to the lab.

-o-

"I'm here!" Fitz panted, practically doubled over, one hand flat on the wall beside the laboratory door. "I'm here, let's do this."

Simmons looked up from her computer desk, hand going to her mouth to hide her amusement. "You can take a minute to catch your breath." Her eyes traveled his bent form, lingering on his arse…? _Nah, must be imagining things_. "Bloody Hell, Fitz, you look like you just ran a marathon."

The warm, late-spring night had left him drenched in sweat, and he wheezed, "Couldn't… wait t'..."

Her shoulders lifted hopefully, and a fluctuating smile took over her face. "Fitz…" She stood up.

He got his lungs back enough to straighten his torso, and caught her gaze. He licked his lips. _I love you._ "Jemma." _I'd show the world my penis if it would make you happy._ "You've got a lot of faith in me, sending that to my phone."

She nodded simply. "I know you wouldn't do anything nefarious with it." Stepping closer, she paused in front of him, smoothing her hands down her front. "And, well, actually." Simmons hesitated, toying with the hem of her jumper. "I had some time to think tonight." She breathed in deep and held onto it for a beat. "You've done _so_ much for this project - we both have - sometimes I forget it was my idea." She shrugged, nose wrinkling sympathetically. "And I might have trusted you with a photo, but you've been putting your trust in me all month." She grabbed the last Limpstick from its storage case and tapped it idly against the lab table, mulling over her next words. "I just want you to know that I appreciate it."

Fitz, still breathless from the run over, got exactly zero words out before his senses were suddenly flooded by her, wrapped in a quick hug.

Drawing back, she smiled up at him hopefully. "I know we argue sometimes, Fitz, but your feelings are important to me. I'm sorry if I made you think I didn't care."

"Yeah, no, that's fine, I knew that." Truthfully, he _had_ been angry, but seeing her like this, apologetic, vulnerable, affectionate - his rancor sublimated like dry ice. "I do have t' wonder," he added playfully, "if I'd taken even longer showin' up, what else you might've sent me a picture of…"

Simmons punched his arm, laughing lightly. "Cheeky." She shooed him with a quick gesture. "Go get situated; I'd like to start." A wave of her hand indicated the monitor setup as she moved to scan the Limpstick's randomly-generated bar code.

Still feeling overly warm, Fitz stumbled over to his usual chair and secured the cuff around himself. Only then did he realize that, too preoccupied with everything that had happened, he'd forgotten to go home and change. In his dark jeans - the same clothes he'd worn to the meeting with Weaver - rather than the roomy shorts he was meant to wear over the monitor, he couldn't decipher exactly how to keep himself modest. If he sat very still and didn't fall out of the flap, his boxers would conceivably manage, but that was the extent of it. Fitz sat with his jeans on but his zipper open, a barely-covered bulge poking up from his lap. Under the plaid cotton of his underpants, man and machine cooperated to mortify him in a rather sizeable way. "Erm, Simmons? I've got a wardrobe malfunction."

He could hear the eye roll. "I swear, you use that expression far too liberally."

She walked shamelessly around the screen, painting her mouth with the Limpstick and not bothering with a mirror. "Oh, Fitz," she _tsked_. "I can't see anything. Besides, I double-checked the room - there aren't any cameras on us anymore."

"Oh. Er… I suppose that's all right then." Simmons had already seen everything anyway.

She bit her bottom lip and advanced on him, dropping the stopwatch on the desk next to his chair. "Do you want to stand, or…?"

"Y'know," he squinched up his face, thinking about what fleshy bits would certainly tumble out of their precarious hammock if he so much as crossed his legs, "I think I'm good here?"

"Okay." She pushed her hair back from her face, tying it into a loose ponytail as she walked forward. "I can work with that."

 _Good God._ Putting her hands behind her head like that should be illegal. Fitz felt his face go slack and reminded himself that he had a lovely new photo he could ogle anytime he wanted. _So stop leering at her in person, you perv._

With no further preamble, Jemma stepped forward and sat across his knees.

Fitz bit the inside of his cheek, stifling an indecent yelp at the sudden move. "Ahhh… what're y' doin' there, pal?" _Pal?_ His whole personality groaned self-consciously.

"Well I'm hardly going to bend down to kiss you for the entire time. Can you imagine how uncomfortable that would be?" She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his eyes flew to the ceiling, hoping she'd attribute the half-hard press of him against her thigh to the texture of the cuff.

"Am I disturbing anything?" Her voice, her skin, her breath were soft against his cheek.

A quick glance down was enough to confirm that, while he might risk popping out of his boxers, she wasn't interfering with any data transmission. _Fucking Hell._ The same glance made him nearly bite his tongue in half, struck by the unexpected front-row access down her normally conservative blouse.

"Er… nope. We're all good. Good to go. Goin' strong. I mean-"

He stopped speaking when her lips crashed into his. Jemma seemed intent on making up for every minute she'd spent waiting for him that evening, all questing tongue and hungry teeth, edacious and demanding. His arousal spiked into high gear as she squirmed against him, and before he forgot himself, before the gaunt hidalgo ran off to become a knight, Fitz forced himself to pull away, cradling her cheeks to hold her in place.

_Remember Weaver's warning. Keep it professional._

After a half dozen heartbeats, he leaned forward again, pressing his lips to hers carefully, keeping his mouth closed with deliberate effort when he felt the warm, tempting slide of her tongue, begging an invitation. _Chaste. Clinical._ He remembered the little speech Simmons had given that afternoon, decrying even the _possibility_ of anything between them, as if the concept itself were laughable. The hurt sat fizzing in his chest, a bitter soda tablet of expired hope, and his lips glued themselves together in defiance of her needy whimper.

At least, until he felt the hot breath of his name against his face.

"Fitz…" she pressed a peck to the corner of his mouth. "What's wrong? Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I am kissing you." His expression studiously blank, Fitz picked up the hand he'd been resting on Jemma's leg to examine a chip on his pinky nail.

She sighed, tipping her forehead to his temple while one hand played with the curls at the nape of his neck. "I wish you could just tell me."

Everything in him twitched, wanting to hold her, to kiss her the way he knew she meant, and he pulled back slightly before blurting out, "I don't know, Jemma. I think…" His eyes darted to meet hers, then down to her mouth, back to his hand. "I think it's just hitting me that this is the last time we'll be doing this."

Her brows met adorably in the middle - _is that disappointment?_ \- mouth tantalizingly close as her tongue flickered out over her bottom lip. "What if… what if it wasn't? The last time?"

For a moment, Fitz stared into her eyes, the golden flecks within them a dragon's hoard he would starve to hold onto. "Jemma?" He was proud he'd kept her name from turning into a squeak. "Are you hittin' on me?"

She chuffed a soft laugh. "Trying to." Her breath was coming in shallow puffs, and she dropped her head forward to rest on his shoulder, fingers playing with the button of his shirt collar.

"Oh." He held the notion in his mind, catching it in a jar like a lightning bug that could fizzle out at any second. "But you told Weaver-"

"-what I had to to get us out of there, obviously." She nuzzled into the safety of his collar, one more beat of silent uncertainty. "So… what do you think?"

Words darted into his head and out, too fast to capture, flying fish leaping in the salty spray, and in the absence of coherent thought, he simply nodded. Slowly at first, then the quick up-down of a sinusoidal wave, Fitz nodded all the way into the kiss, until his movement met hers and became the push and pull of dancing mouths, the tilt and shift of noses and chins in gentle negotiation.

Where his last kisses had been quick and firm, this new rhythm was positively luxurious. Her mouth moved over his, building his need higher, layering texture onto an already breathtaking canvas. They fit together like a game of Tetris, heartbeats rising, hands traveling from cloth to skin to hair, tongues creating a secret handshake in the relentless summer swelter of their bodies. The drums between them were thundering heat and fog, and the cooling sweat on his skin begged for the exploration of her lips.

Just in case this never happened again, he meant to draw it out, and so he kissed her past the point of breath and wisdom. All too soon, the buzzer for the alarm was sounding, and Fitz flung a hand out, blindly reaching to turn it off and succeeding only in clattering the stopwatch farther back and out of reach. "Fuck," he growled, tearing himself away just enough to pick it up and, rather vindictively, smash it silent.

"Hmm?" Jemma's wordless question, full of sandpapery want, set his brain on fire, and he felt the jolt of his erection against the monitor cuff.

"Jemma." Her name was a strangled groan as she wiggled in his lap. "I think we got a placebo."

"Did we?" Her hand trailed down his chest, and before he knew it, her fingers were brushing against him through the thin fabric of his boxers. "Hmm…" she teased with a note of faux assessment. "I doubt we have enough evidence to make that determination at this point, don't you think? In fact I'm _fairly_ certain," she leaned forward, ghosting her lips over his ear, "we need to collect more data."

Fitz moaned, an obscene sound in the sterile room. It was a constant in his and Simmons' daily existence that the lab was for work. Fitz was a professional, after all, a man grown, responsible for many of the upgrades to the tech in that very lab. For God's sake, he didn't even keep _food_ in there anymore. _Obviously_ , he told himself, _nothing's gonna happen_. _We're just doing research like Simmons said._ There was no way he was going to 'pop the champagne' tonight - at least, not sitting at his workstation, on a Tuesday, in full view of the centrifuge and the autoclave.

 _Tell that to Simmons._ At the moment, Jemma seemed intent on seeing exactly how far she could take him with nothing but her tongue in his mouth and her slender fingers wrapped around his cock. If he'd been in a wagering mood, he'd have said, _pretty far indeed_.

She did something with her thumb that left him gasping, unable to reign in the clench of his brow, cursing the limits of the human body as he broke off the kiss to fill his lungs.

"Oh, my giddy aunt-" he choked, at the sight of her wet, kiss-red lips and the fierce look of accomplishment in her eye.

"Need something?" she teased, releasing him long enough to run her tongue across her palm. _Jesus Bungee-Jumping Christ._ With a glint of mischief in her eye, she started up a torturously languid pace that set him off in entirely different ways, and it took him a minute before he could speak again.

"Oxygen," he managed. "I did run all the way over here, y'know." Never mind that was almost certainly _not_ why he was breathing so hard.

She snorted delicately, a knowing smile in place, and let go of him with a light shove. "Only because you were hoping to catch me with my top off."

"I beg your pardon," he said in mock indignation, now that his mouth was forming words again, "but I came back here to finish our project. Which I care about _deeply_."

She rolled her eyes. "My hero." Leaning in for a gentle kiss, Simmons moved her hands to the top button of her blouse and arched an eyebrow. "I was thinking…"

 _Oh, Hell yes._ "Uh-huh?" _Is that really what my voice sounds like?_ He sounded like a cartoon character. No wonder Simmons hadn't ever tried to kiss him before.

She kept talking, though, and Fitz was more than happy to ignore the odd pitch his larynx seemed intent on producing. "We _could_ , potentially, get even better results with a new set of conditions."

Right then, Fitz would've traded away the rights to his future intellectual property just to get his hands on _her_ set. Of, er, conditions. The way she was toying with that button was driving him half mad with the itch to take over. He swallowed. "Erm," he licked his lips, "What did you have in mind?" _Good. Not so squeaky this time._

Instead of answering, Jemma stood and walked down to the end of the room. Near-instantaneously, every one of his molecules protested the loss of her warmth in his lap, the breeze of her movement flickering over the bare head of his cock where it poked up from the flap in his boxers. Fitz clapped his hands over himself instinctively, ill at ease with the idea of being so exposed in public, and felt his stomach drop in unsteady guilt when he saw her stop at the sink.

 _Of course she'd want to wash the ball sweat off her hands._ He opened his mouth to apologize for the state of his crotch, but stopped himself when, instead of turning on the tap, Jemma grabbed a stack of napkins from the dispenser and the bottle of hand lotion they kept next to the gloves to ward off dry skin. _Hello._ Wait, no. No, he'd made a promise to himself. This was their _lab_ , their _place_. He couldn't very well let Jemma tug him off in front of the same table where she'd once left a cat liver next to his lunch. Could he?

Jemma set her cargo on the desk by the stopwatch and arranged herself one more time in his lap, dropping all pretense of propriety and bringing her hip right up against his erection. _Damn these single-person chairs._ If he'd been on a bench, she could have straddled him, the mental image of which was enough to make him practically go blind. But Fitz wasn't about to complain about a goddamn chair, not when Simmons was right there, leaning slightly back and eyeing him wolfishly.

" _I_ just think," and finally, _for the love of all things holy_ , she undid that button, "we should test as many variables as possible." Then the next one. "Just to be thorough." And the next. _She does like to be thorough._

Her left hand came out to take his right one, slipping it into her bra cup and pressing his fingers over her nipple. He followed her lead, listening to her whimper and squirm, and pinpricks of glorious sensation crept across his skin as she writhed against him. When she went back to kissing, nipping at his bottom lip in wild exuberance, he swore he might have stopped seeing colors for a second.

"I lied to you before," Fitz gasped. "Your boobs are _fucking_ incredible."

She smiled and left soft kisses in a trail down his jaw before dragging her teeth across his earlobe. "I kind of knew that," she breathed, leaving the shell of his ear crackling with staticky bliss. "Your cock's not so bad either."

And with that, she pushed his boxers out of the way, pumped herself a handful of lotion, and set about proving once again that Jemma Simmons was the best at everything.

 _Fuck it._ The lab could be for work tomorrow.

-o-

Fitz woke to an unfamiliar alarm and a lock of hair tickling his nose, and spent a moment cataloguing his senses to make sure his scumbag brain wasn't playing a trick on him. The rise and fall of Jemma's breath came in against his rib cage like the tide, the scent of her almond blossom shampoo welcomed him faintly from the sheets - and Fitz, satisfied that she was real, reached over and punched the snooze button with gusto. "Morning, sunshine." His eyes were cathedral windows as he craned his neck down to kiss her forehead.

With her sleepy smile pressed into his chest, Fitz sent a silent prayer of thanks to the penis god for favoring him with such bounty. _Must be all those sacrifices finally payin' off._ A month of interrupted boners was nothing, if it made Jemma happy. Maybe Simmons _was_ the penis god. He'd certainly seen enough in the last twelve hours to convince him of the possibility.

He was just working up the nerve to ask her what she wanted to do - _for the rest of our lives_ \- for breakfast, when a musical _ding_ went off on Simmons' phone, indicating a new email.

Furrowing her brow, she sat up and checked the screen, letting the sheets pool around her waist. _Christ on a cracker._ The hypnotic sight of Jemma's bare breasts sent a flurry of recent memories, in which those boobs had starring roles, skittering to the forefront of his brain. _This is_ _ **so**_ _much better than that time she wore a bikini last year._ Floating on the pleasant hum of having an Actual Female Girl naked in bed with him, it was only when she wrung her hands into the sheets and brought them anxiously up to her neck that Fitz processed the look of clear trepidation tightening over her face.

"It's Weaver. She wants to meet with us again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line "Jemma Simmons was the best at everything" is paraphrased from [Nothing Important](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2268825) by snarkysweetness, which is an A++ hand job fic and you should all check it out.
> 
> Also this is my first smut and smut is hard. Er, difficult. So, y'know, judge away, but please be kind. (I was lucky enough to have a smut pro beta-ing me, lavendergaia. Thanks, hon!)


	8. Chapter 8

"Do you think she knows? Oh, bloody Hell!" Jemma was pacing, hands twisting at the hem of her jumper until he thought it might be stretched into uselessness. "Is this what disobeying a direct order feels like? What are we going to do? I can't lie to _Anne Weaver_." She turned to him, wild-eyed. "Have you seen me try to lie? _Have you?_ "

Fitz finished tying his shoes and jumped off the bed, crossing the room quickly and wrapping his arms around her in a hug. "Hey…" He rubbed comforting fingers up and down her spine, murmuring, "It's gonna be fine. We haven't broken any actual rules, yeah? This meeting might not even be about," he nodded towards the bed, "that. And even if it is, you'll be brilliant. Okay?" He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "You were fine when she mentioned it yesterday."

That seemed to make things worse, as she whined miserably into his shoulder, "Well, we weren't dating _yesterday_!"

A slow smile crept over his face like sunrise. "Dating?" His fist came up behind her back, pumping the air in triumph.

She pulled back to stare at him incredulously, head tilted in a familiar _the-Hell-are-you-on-about_ expression. "Of course, dating. Now, can we please focus on what we're going to say to Weaver?"

The only thing Fitz could focus on was the jubilant _lub-dub_ resonating in his chest. _Dating._ This was going to be a regular thing. He tried to bring his face under control, but it was like asking the Dead Sea to lay off the salt. Fitz knew he should be more worried. There was undoubtedly surveillance all through the dorms, and if anyone was keeping tabs on them - an ominous possibility, given Kibbles' threats and Weaver's 'gentle reminder' - they'd easily put two and two together.

Right now, though? All he could think was that, despite his every expectation, Simmons had seen his… credentials, and rather than laughing in his face, she'd offered him the job. _Oh, yeah._ _She wants the PhD._

-o-

"I spoke to Dr. Subramanyan about your project. It's extremely promising." Agent Weaver's face was kind as they found themselves once again on the other side of her desk. "So promising, in fact, that I forwarded the information to Commander Hill, and she'd like to fast-track it to Phase 2."

Jemma's face was a bouquet of daisies, sitting up like an exclamation point and turning to him in astonishment. "Fitz!" Her hand came out, presumably to grip his, but at the last minute she redirected her arm and pounded her palm on the cushioned arm of his chair instead. "That's great news! Thank you, Dr. Weaver!"

"It's a real honor, thanks," Fitz nodded, speaking at the same time. His next thought gave him pause, and he coughed, slightly unsure. _Do_ _ **not**_ _want t' seem greedy._ "So, erm…" he fumbled, drumming his fingers on his thigh.

Simmons picked up on his train of thought. "Does this mean we won the competition?" she beamed.

Agent Weaver's eyes measured them for a beat. "It's certainly another feather in your combined cap, and you've impressed the Deputy Director, but don't thank me just yet." She picked up the mug on her desk and took a dainty sip. "Due to the nature of the prototype-"

"-the Limpstick," Fitz supplied.

"Yes, the… Limpstick… if word of this invention were to get out, it would be worthless. As such, this project is now classified. Level 3 and above."

 _But we're not even Level 1._ Simmons said as much out loud.

"Indeed." Weaver was all business now. "You will no longer be involved. You're to turn all of your findings over to me directly by the end of the day. And, as you've no doubt surmised, you'll need to keep mum on all aspects of your research. As for the competition, considering the notoriety that usually surrounds the top contenders and the degree of 'buzz' those inventions tend to create, I'm afraid this requires you to drop out of the running."

Fitz was flabbergasted, and from the corner of his eye he saw Simmons pale, equally in shock. _Drop out?_ True, the Limpstick was Simmons' brainchild more than his, but like all of their joint endeavors, it didn't matter who'd had the original idea - they'd built on it together. The side of Fitz that wanted to show off his scientific prowess joined forces with the much louder side of him that wanted to please Simmons. _She's been expectin' the win._ And she'd gotten it, kind of, just not in the way he knew she'd hoped. _And Kibbles is gonna think we dropped out because of her. Mother_ _ **fucker**_ _._

The gag order, on the other hand, sat rather well with him. He'd be happy for an excuse not to talk about the month of his life when he couldn't get it up. _Hold on. Wait just a fucking second._ For the second time that morning, Fitz was on top of the world.

"Agent Weaver, ma'am?"

She sat back in her chair, regarding him expectantly.

"When you say all the information pertaining to this project is now classified…"

Simmons looked over at him, eyebrows high.

"... does that include video of our data-collection tactics?" _Even, let's say, video that was taken behind our back?_

"Any and _all_ data, Cadet Fitz," she said, with the pointed air of someone not accustomed to repeating themselves. "If you or anyone else is in possession of footage beyond your clearance level, I advise you, S.H.I.E.L.D. does not look kindly on potential security leaks."

"Yep, that's fine, no problem," he rushed to assure her, "I just thought, if you're interested…" Weaver folded her hands in her lap, staring him down, and he got on with it, "we might be able t' help you flush out a bad seed or two."

-o-

"It _would_ have been us, if we'd been allowed to compete. It _should_ have been us." It was the third time in as many minutes Jemma'd been grousing, going through a printout of the top five project abstracts and systematically breaking down everything that could be wrong with them.

"Just look at this nonsense - the headache machine? How can you possibly control the circumstances? Even if the undercover agents inject themselves with the dampening serum, I hardly think it'll be a subtle move when the entire room breaks out in migraines. Honestly…" she scoffed, looking highly discomfited.

Fitz tried to soothe her without being too obvious, nudging her gently with his elbow as they wandered about the auditorium. "Of course it's not as good as what _we_ had, but Jemma…" If they couldn't win, it would probably help her to see the good in the other inventions. "It's got _some_ applications. With a small enough range, it could work on a specific person. Or, if they used it to avoid sex, like the Limpst-" _ah yes, secrecy, quite right_ , "- er, I mean, like ours, in a bedroom, or away from people, it'd be fine. Probably a little more reliable, actua- hey!"

Jemma apparently didn't like to be told there was anything better than the Limpstick, because the next thing he knew, the folded-up pamphlet landed on his arm with a resounding _thwack_. "We're not meant to be talking about that!" she cautioned shrilly under her breath.

"Well all right, then, y' barmy hellcat. No need to draw blood over it." He rubbed his arm, scowling. She pursed her lips and went back to the list.

"And _this_ one?" She pointed at another short description. "Masquerading as a 'foolproof' truth serum when we all know that sodium pentothal derivatives were debunked decades ago. Ten to one, it's got a cornucopia of horrible side effects. For shame," she tutted.

"Ehhh…" Fitz debated whether or not to argue with her. He'd heard they were doing some impressive things with truth serums over at Stark Labs; it was possible that someone here at Sci-Tech had gotten hold of the same idea. Before he had a chance to waffle too much, though, she continued with her fretful ramble. _Just as well._ He didn't want to upset her any more right now.

"Oh, look at this one, Fitz, a hangover cure." She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "Who designed this tosh, Jonesy?"

"Okay, it's not really _just_ a-" She cut him off with a look. "But it is _definitely_ not better than what we came up with." He threw her a grin and leaned over to whisper against the ticklish spot on her neck, "You're the smartest person here, you know that?"

"Oh?" she asked archly, smiling even as she put her whole hand in his face to push him away. "I thought I was _nearly_ the smartest."

"You're an elephant, is what." Did she remember _everything_ he'd ever said against her? Then he realized how his answer might have sounded. "Oh, God, not because- I mean, your body is- you look-"

Flustered or not, he couldn't help but thank his stars when she started laughing. "I know what you meant." She stepped into his side and took his hand. "Daft man," she giggled, face pinking up the way it did sometimes when he stared too long.

A caustic, chilly voice burgled away their bubble of happiness. "Well, well, well. I thought I smelled something rotten."

"Your soul?" Jemma shot back, and he patted her hand in what he hoped was a calming way.

Kibbles sauntered up to them, an insufferable sneer on her face. "Heard you two dropped out of the competition."

Simmons' nails dug into his palm, her breathing furiously stuttered beside him, so he jumped in with a quick, "Yep, that's us! Just terrible. Namby-pamby quitters, you know how we are." He chuckled awkwardly.

Kibbles narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but snorted. "You got my camera, SpongeBob?"

"Absolutely. Right here in m' pocket." Fitz kept his movements supercilious as he quickly extracted the spy-cam from his jacket and put it into her hand. "Good as new. Now, you'll hold up your end of the bargain? No spreadin' my… well, legs… all over the school?"

"Long as you don't piss me off, Dick Van Winkle. Now scram!"

Fitz kept both his hands tightly around Simmons' as he led her away to a quiet corner of the auditorium. He could feel her body quivering with barely restrained ire, but thankfully she waited until they were out of earshot of the other students before hissing,

"Damnit, Fitz! I just want to have my revenge already." Her beautiful eyes turned to him, glimmering with angry tears. "Is that so wrong?"

Conscious of the setting, Fitz stopped himself from bringing her in close, settling for stroking slow patterns onto her sleeve in a bid to relax her nerves. "Shhh, Jemma, it's okay. Everything'll work itself out."

Just then they heard a telltale throat-clearing on the microphone. The entire room switched gears, zeroing in on the makeshift stage. Agent Weaver stood, lovely as ever, and faced the assembled scientists. "It gives me great pleasure to welcome you all this afternoon…"

Fitz risked putting his arm around Simmons as they listened to Weaver outline the finalists once again. The crowd erupted, students clapping eagerly as the brains behind each of the top prototypes was finally revealed.

"And for the Headache Grenade, Doctor Kimberly Lopez," Weaver continued smoothly, her voice carrying over the applause.

 _The fuck?_ He felt Simmons twitch angrily at his side, heard her teeth grind. _Kibbles_ had made finalist? _She's like a turd that won't flush, that one._

"Next, for the Bezoar, Doctor Wendell Yasuda." Agent Weaver smiled broadly at the young man straightening his tie by the stairs. "And now, I'm delighted to announce the winner." The room quieted, every contender pinned to a clothesline as they waited to know if they would be taking the easy money train to Director Fury's secret headquarters. "For his multipurpose antidote, which will be instrumental in allowing field agents to avoid and correct drug impairments in the field, the winner of the Sci-Tech challenge is… Doctor Yasuda!"

Across the room, Fitz saw Kibbles' eyes screech open in disbelief. "This is bullshit!" she cried out, kicking a backpack someone had left on the floor and storming out. Or rather, she tried to storm out, yanking furiously at the door handle and lobbing a few choice profanities when it wouldn't open on the third try. Behind her in the auditorium, the finalist who'd developed the truth serum - Blackstone, Fitz thought his name was - called tentatively out, "You have to push it?" With a raptor hiss back in his direction, Kibbles finally succeeded in shoving her way out of the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in the aftermath.

Agent Weaver glared down at the open door for about ten seconds, a volcano gone icy cold, before someone rushed to close it. She turned back to the crowd, urging Yasuda to come up and shake her hand, and Fitz faced Simmons with a wry grimace. "Feel better?" He knew it must be satisfying on _some_ level to see Kibbles lose, but… _Poor Wendell._ The whole spectacle had left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Yes… and no." Simmons echoed his thoughts. She exhaled, a prolonged breath that he guessed was intended to rid her of vindictive thoughts.

"We _could_ still prank her, if y' like," he offered. Simmons knew where her locker was, Fitz knew a guy who kept everyone's combination, and they could probably procure a hundred pounds of dog food pretty quickly if they needed to. "Just say the word and it's done."

"You're sweet." Simmons bit her lip, pondering, then sighed. "But I think we'd better not."

 _Look at her little face, taking the high road._ Gosh, Simmons was the best. He took her hand, speaking softly enough that only she could hear. "I know you feel bad we had t' drop out of the competition, but- it's not like we _lost_. We proved what we can do. We're on Hill's radar. And more importantly-"

"The Limpstick is going to get made. _We_ did that." She smiled back at him, setting his mind afloat like rose petals in bathwater, and brushed an imaginary piece of dust off his collar. "And you know, if you want to cheer me up…" She smoothed down his tie, and as he was perfectly aware that his tie was smooth already, the gesture made his stomach clench eagerly. "I do have _a couple_ of ideas."

-o-

The moonlight dappled through the trees onto a small hill outside the Engineering labs. Leaned against the harsh brick corner, lulled by the sound of the huge industrial generator humming at her side, a woman waited. The hand stuffed into her hoodie pocket played idly with whatever was inside, the other swiped at the dull glow of an app game on her phone, and a set of enormous headphones rested on her ears. Her eyes darted up, registering the man picking his way over the uneven ground, running steady hands along the darkened wall. With a glower, she pushed her headphones back and let them fall onto her neck.

"You're late."

"Hey, Kibz," he called out softly. "I had to-"

"Don't call me that." Her eyes were ice picks, stabbing at his face before driving impatiently to the CD case in his hand. "That my hard copy?"

"Yeah. It's all there, just like you asked. Backed up and encrypted."

"So you're not completely useless. Good." She reached into her pocket and all but tossed the spy-cam into his hand, barking out a biting laugh when he fumbled and dropped it. "You should make that shit more durable. Now get outta my sight."

"Not so fast, Cadet."

Both students looked up at the rapidly approaching voice. Agent Weaver strode up confidently, flanked by two Ops specialists, as another appeared around the corner and a fourth stepped out from behind the nearby generator.

"Lopez, James." Weaver nodded mercilessly at the pair. "You have something that belongs to S.H.I.E.L.D. Please come with me."

-o-

"You know, at some point," Jemma stretched out against his side, breathing hard and tracing the line of his collarbone once she'd brought the sheets up to cover them again, "we _are_ going to have to talk about that pesky anti-fraternization clause."

"Oh, _now_ you want t' talk? I see how it is." _Hmmph._ _Thinks she can just tell me what to do with my mouth at all times of the day and night._

"Fitz…" she scolded, swatting at his chest and not fooling anyone. "I'm being serious."

"You're being seriously _distracting_ ," he mumbled against her shoulder.

She laughed and wriggled away. "And _you're_ stalling." Jemma propped herself up on her elbow, looking down fondly. "I know those protocols don't apply to us at the moment, but once we graduate…"

"Yeah, okay." He sighed and tipped his head back onto the pillow, briefly closing his eyes. "It's just - I'm not worried about that, not really. They make exceptions, right?" He cupped her cheek, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. "We work so well together, only a right stupid bunch of bastards would split us up." He picked up her hand, dropping a light kiss to her knuckles. "All we have to do is prove our brains haven't turned to mush when it comes to the work, and as far as I'm concerned, S.H.I.E.L.D. can fuck right off about our private lives."

"Well, there are definitely unofficial exceptions." Simmons curled her hand around the side of his head, scratching softly through the curls. "Did you hear about Jessica Drew and Clint Barton?"

 _Please._ Who _hadn't_ Barton slept with? It was clear to Fitz that S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't care who was involved with whom, when it suited them to turn a blind eye.

Jemma continued, "Although, well, they're not scientists, so it isn't as though they spend every minute in a lab together, but-"

"But that doesn't mean anything - the Curies discovered all those new elements, constantly in each other's company, and look how that worked out!"

She scrunched her nose, amused. "Leopold Fitz. Are you promising me a Nobel prize?"

His throat was honey-thick, gazing into her star-chart eyes, and he whispered, "If that's what you want? I'll promise you two."

 _Sap._ He should probably be more reserved with his affection, but if this was what it felt like to be putty in her hands, he'd gladly change his name to Gumby.

Her answering smile was small but doting, warm enough to melt putty, or sand, or steel, even as she rolled her eyes. "So cocky." She bent her head, breath hitching as her eyes flitted down to his lips. The fingers in his hair tugged him forward, and Fitz went willingly, his arm circling her waist and drawing her close. Jemma stuck to him like a leaf in the rain, and despite the head-rushing newness of her body and her bed, the _feeling_ of her was so familiar, so full of late nights and deep talks and personal bests, that when she kissed him his mind floated merrily away, a paper boat in a backyard creek.

When he came back to himself, she'd snuggled in, laying her ear against his heartbeat. "I don't want to end up like the Curies, though: Pierre dead before his time in a tragic accident, Marie struck down with leukemia. I'm far too attached to you for that."

He chuckled and trailed his hand down the silk of her ribs, loving the way it made her shiver. "Your pillow talk needs work."

She lifted her head to stick her tongue out at him, and the reminder that her tongue existed, and that it was one of his favorite things in this earthly plane, was too tempting to ignore. He nudged her onto her back and kissed her, sweet and slow and strong, before making his way down the column of her throat, leaving small pinks marks in his wake. "The good news is," he kissed the spot just under her breasts, "we don't need to be the Curies. In fact," he reached her belly button and rested his chin there, staring up the line of her body to find her watching him in giddy anticipation, "all we need to be is-"

"- Fitzsimmons," Jemma finished for him, at the same time that he promised,

"- together."

 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The truth serum they're developing at Stark Labs is a reference to my story What Must Surely Be a Dream.
> 
> Jemma's knowledge of truth serums, and the mention of Marie and Pierre Curie, are inspired by Copenhagen by badscienceshenanigans, whose help was invaluable during this whole fic.
> 
> Kibz and James are references to my Secret Valentine.
> 
> The Bezoar is a Harry Potter reference (Yasuda's invention is a sort of catchall antidote - negates the effects of alcohol and most drugs).
> 
> Blackstone is named after Harry Dresden of the Dresden Files by Jim Butcher.
> 
> Jessica Drew is Marvel's Spider-Woman and has been spotted in the comics dating Hawkeye (Clint Barton). I am not a big comic book reader, you all have my beta Amanda to thank for that fun tidbit. And for putting up with me through this whole process. She is honestly the best.


	9. Chapter 9

**EPILOGUE**

2 years later  
Location: REDACTED

Agent Bobbi Morse, codename Mockingbird, downed her drink and fanned her hands over the bare shoulders of her cocktail dress. "Is it warm in here?" she flirted with the burly, scarred man in front of her.

His piggish eyes roamed freely over her curves as she slipped off the hotel room couch and headed to the bathroom. His vise-like claw trapped her wrist before she could take more than a step. "Where are you going?"

She reached into her purse instead, pulling out a small compact and a lipstick marked _102 Wilting Rose_. "Just want to look my best for you, baby."

"Yeah you do," said the man, slapping her backside as she applied the vibrant red lip color. "Now come here and let me mess it up again."

They tangled back onto the arm of the couch, clothes flying, wine glasses knocked over, TV accidentally clicked on by a wayward elbow to the remote control. Soon enough, Mockingbird was on her knees in front of the couch, arms tugging the man's legs towards her as one hand playfully went to his zipper and pulled it down.

"Whoa, _what_ \- I swear, this is the first time-"

"It's okay, sugar." Mockingbird smiled sweetly as she sat back up on the couch, pressing a tiny button on her bracelet. Ten floors down, a S.H.I.E.L.D. ready team burst into action, conscious that they had only a few hours in which to find and rescue the kidnapped Gifted. Mockingbird ran polished fingernails through her mark's clipped grey hair and hummed soothingly.

"It happens to everybody."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 102 written on the Limpstick case is a nod to Peggy Carter's version in the pilot of Agent Carter.
> 
> I had a great time with this fic exchange! This story was a lot of fun to write (if a bit nerve-wracking at times). Hope y'all enjoyed it!
> 
> Please leave a review if you can. :-)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of outtakes that didn't make it into Fitz's freakout, extra notes, cover art, etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really just here as a lark, in case anyone was wondering about these little snippets that ultimately don't find their way into the fic. Feel free to ignore this chapter!

**IMAGES**

** **

 

** **

 

Both pictures made by the fantastically talented [memorizingthedigitsofpi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/) whom you should all be following on tumblr and whose fics are ah-maze-ing.

 

* * *

 

 

**DELETED SCENES**

 

"Don't you have some work to do?"  
As if he could concentrate at the moment. This was the end, he was sure of it. Little Doctor Fitzy was out of the office. Retired. For life. That first afternoon's existential crisis, which had faded to a dim, still frame tucked away in his consciousness, came roaring back in a spiteful crash. How could she expect him to think about his Robotics paper when he'd now gone _seven hours_ without the use of his favorite engineering tool?

* * *

Simmons raised her eyebrows, unamused. Fitz put the rolled magazine up to his face like a microphone and turned to an imaginary audience, speaking under his breath. "We've been lucky enough to get an exclusive scoop with Dr. Jemma Simmons, the Boner Burner herself. Let's get her thoughts." He leaned forward. "Dr. Simmons, how do you respond to allegations that you viciously emasculated your colleague Dr. Fitz, in your misguided and frankly maniacal pursuit of science?"

Her face was as flat as a gravestone. "If you're not going to do any work yourself, you could at least let me finish mine."

 _Hmmph._ The world had been robbed of his sexual prowess, and she wanted him to leave her be? _Not likely, sister_. "Is it true that the attack on Dr. Fitz's manhood was due to a professional rivalry? Was he outshining you in the lab? Were you channeling Tanya Harding?"

Simmons let out a short breath. "You're not funny, you know."

"Oh, I _know that_ , Jemma. There's nothing _funny_ about the bleak, shagless life you've sentenced me to, but I'm _tryin'_ to soldier on as best I can, and sometimes I use comedy as a defense mechanism."

 

* * *

 

**Rejected Limpstick Name Options**

  
The Balldozer  
The Pickle Spear  
The Wrecking Ball  
No Bones About It  
The Unstarcher  
The Flat Tire  
The Cigar Cutter  
The Hard-Off  
ET Bone Home (credit badscienceshenanigans)

 

* * *

**Amy Pornds you didn't get to see**

\- wearing a fez

\- straddling the TARDIS

\- with a speech bubble that says, "It's bigger on _my_ insides!"

\- giving new meaning to the phrase "sit on my face" by trampolining that one flat pancake lady who's all face

\- licking whipped cream off the egg-beater arm of a Dalek (with a speech bubble that says "Sexterminate!" -- I would also accept "Ex-sperminate!")

 

(Please bear in mind that I've watched a grand total of about three Doctor Who episodes, and nothing with Amy Pond actually in it, so I have no idea if I've gotten this right.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as ever to my beta Amanda, [amandajoyce118](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amandajoyce118/pseuds/amandajoyce118), for being awesomely supportive and just a generally good person and for always being on hand to answer questions that are probably way too specific to worry about. Her work is also fantastic and you should go read it next. Thanks, gorgeous!  
> Shout out to [badscienceshenanigans](http://archiveofourown.org/users/badscienceshenanigans/pseuds/badscienceshenanigans), [Lavendergaia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendergaia/pseuds/Lavendergaia), and [EclecticMuse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/pseuds/EclecticMuse), who helped me brainstorm different possible directions for the fic when I first got my prompt -- there were at least five ways this could’ve gone, but I’m happy with the one I chose!  
> lavendergaia is just the best gosh-darn smut consultant I could have asked for -- she’s a real sweetheart to work with, and you should definitely check out her submissions for this fic exchange (Grocery Store Date AU and Zombie Apocalypse AU) because they are pants-down amazing!  
> And the inimitable badscienceshenanigans deserves all the props for being a laboratory badass and coaching me on the “science” part of the prompt, and for suggesting and helping me flesh out so many ideas it’s ridiculous -- science is not my wheelhouse, y’all, and she’s incredibly busy but still went out of her way for me, and she’s hilarious and you should all be reading [Copenhagen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2535083/chapters/5635556).
> 
> Also, one last shout-out to [starbrightnights](http://archiveofourown.org/users/starbrightnights/pseuds/starbrightnights) for her help with British slang!  
> I just do not deserve all these wonderful ladies!


End file.
